Warm the breezes

Warm are the breezes;

Grass grows in sunny meadows,

Listen!

Listen, there pipes the nightingale...

I will sing:

High up there in dusky mountain forests,

Cold snow melts and oozes;

A maiden in a grey dress

leans against a damp oaktree;

Her cheeks are ill,

The grey eyes burn

Through the dusky, giant tree trunks.

"He doesn't come yet. He's making me wait"...

Die!

The one dies while the other lives:

That makes the world so deeply beautiful.