A lay of the early spring

A lay of the early spring,

Maiden fair, to thee I sing.

While each bird its mate is calling,

And as gentle breezes blow,

Countless flakes of blossom snow

From the orchard trees are falling.

Bird and blossom, maiden sweet,

Teach that lovers true should meet

When all Nature thus rejoices.

Come then, dearest, to the vale

Where the thrush and nightingale

In sweet concert raise their voices,

For when fickle spring departs,

Summer warmth shall fill our hearts

With a love and faith unbroken.