O gentle rustling in the tree-tops

O gentle rustling in the tree-tops,

O little birds who fly far away,

O springs who come from the still peaks,

Tell me where my homeland lies!

Today in a dream I saw it again,

And from every mountain

Such greetings came down to me,

That I began to weep.

Ah! here on the foreign peaks,

People, streams, rocks and trees -

Confused rustling in the tree-tops -

Everything is like a dream to me!

O cheerful little birds in the tree-tops,

O young men there in the vale,

Bring my greetings from these foreign peaks,

To my home a thousand times!