When I wander in the morning dew

When I wander in the morning dew,

through the fragrance-filled meadow,

I grow so ashamed

from the flowers around me!

The little dove on the church roof,

the little fish in the mill brook,

and the little snake so quiet in the weeds -

all of them feel and name themselves brides.

The apple blossom, shining brightly,

thinks itself a proud little mother;

cheerfully, so early in the year,

the butterfly pair dies already.

God, what have I then done

that I am without a spring mate,

that, without even one sweet kiss

I must die unloved?