Flower ballad

Clouds are heavy in the sky,

snow still covers the earth,

when the herald of spring looks

forth with worried longing;

It is the snowdrop,

that looks forth with fear,

whether in the thin skirt,

is it not too cold up there?

It looks to all sides

and mournfully shakes its head,

only blustery wind blows,

no tree is yet in leaf.

Then, a deep grief grips

the small flower's heart,

it must say good-bye,

must return to its grave.

``Farewell, you lovely flowers,

I would have loved to see you,

when bees buzz around you,

my time will be over!

Farewell, you sweet-smelling roses,

you violets, delicate and fine,

when wind and butterflies caress you,

everything will be dark around me!''

But see! But see, with airily wafting there

comes a wind, that is

followed by a bird, which comes with joyful singing

over the sea.

A second bird follows,

what would he do alone,

and happily

spring follows behind.

To what sweet joys

the little flower's heart inflames,

even when dying it wants to

perform its office!

Then it tells without tiring

as it heralds, small and weak,

as from the shadows of their graves

the sleeping flowers awake.

But they have hardly emerged

from their graves

with whisperings

when the small herald sinks down into his.