The chapel in the woods

It is my heart, this little house,

In the middle, middle of the woods;

Many little birds fly in and out,

Over field and hill.

They fly hither, they fly thither,

Singing sweet songs;

They fly away across the mountains, fly over the sea,

And come singing back again.

In the morning light they pick for themselves

Splendid golden roses:

The zephyrs teach them in the grove

how to caress the violet blossoms.

To be sure, my heart is a happy heart,

And inside there is enthroned a queen,

Who turns every sorrow to bliss

With her sweet love.

All the little birds fly to her,

Fondle her and kiss;

And she in smiling peace

Can well endure anything.

Ah, since the queen took house there,

It is so light and bright inside:

I think it is as comfortable there

As a chapel in the woods.