I will reflect on those days,
which, like the waving tops of the linden trees, have flown away,
when the silver string that was strummed
produced a clear yet trembling first note;
my entire life long,
it has echoed even until this day,
although the string has long since snapped.

When I, with neither virtue nor sin,
lay bright as snow before this sun,
when my child's eyes remained
tenderly closed against the brilliance of day:
You, vanished world,
resounded over wood and field
behind me, like the call of distant quails.

How fabulously has that time departed
with its shy spring splendor,
when, still enfolded by mother-love,
youthful love was gently awakening
like a precious stone,
shining with sunlight,
brought by a happy man into the light.

When I must depart and leap across
that gulf that has no bridge,
will a song not resound,
familiar and portentous, to stir me?
O the world is wide!
Will not that time of youth
somewhere still throb against my heart?

Dreams! what should they hope for,
those who never saw the charm of youth,
who met with unnatural sorrow
to bear fruit without a time to bloom!
Alas, what one does not know,
shall never pull hotly at the heart
and it will remain cold forever.

In the forest treetops of my life,
breathe forth, you cool morning breezes!
Shine happily, morning star of good striving,
let me walk faithfully in your light!
Climbing evergreen 
shall bloom about my walking-stick,
and just once more shall I look back!