Tomorrow you will love

Sweet Springtime has drunk from the hollow of his hand

the first tear which dawn let fall in the woods.

Tomorrow you will love, you who've not yet been lovers;

and you whose love was over, tomorrow you will love!

Sweet Springtime has drunk from the hollow of his hand.

From the air Spring has gathered threads of silk

so as to lace his shoes and run through the woods.

Tomorrow you will love for the very first time,

you who did not know this immortal joy.

From the air Spring has gathered threads of silk.

Spring has strewn flowers along the path

which my darling fills with her sonorous laugh.

Tomorrow you will love, you who've not yet been lovers;

and you whose love was over, tomorrow you will love!

Spring has strewn flowers along the path.