Nightingales beat

Nightingales beat

Merrily their wings,

Nightingales sing

Their old songs.

And all the flowers,

They awaken again

To the clangor and sound

Of all these songs.

And my yearning becomes a nightingale

And flies off in the blooming world,

And asks the flowers everywhere,

Where my little flower is?

And the nightingales

Dance their circle-dance

In the halls of the bowers

Between the blossoming branches;

Among all the flowers,

however, I must be silent.

Among them I remain

Silent with my mournful thoughts:

One flower do I see,

That will not bloom.