My beloved is coming, I already hear him singing loudly;
It is the stormwind, who with night-black wings
Travels through the darksome midnight,
His song has awakened me from languid slumber.

The soughing of the forests and the waves of the water,
The dance of clouds on the dark firmament
And in the midst of it the thunder-like song of the storm,
It draws me mightily out into nature.

There I would like to completely intertwine myself with him,
To be a spirit of the air and, singing, to hover along with the storm,
To be in alliance with forests, mountains and with the sea,
To be never more spoken of by the mouth of a mortal.

Storm! Storm! Sing your thunder-song; ye legions of spirits of the air,
Sing too and thus travel with him through land and sea!
The bonds of earth still hold fast my spirit,
But rapture to know that this bond shall be torn!

Then lift me up, oh storm, with your wings,
Then, friend, let me sing along with your thunder-song,
Let me fly with you over land and lea,
Like you, a part of creative Nature.