Hardly do the lilies-of-the-valley ring

Hardly do the lilies-of-the-valley ring

faintly in the gentle wind,

than a boy starts gaily

and quickly from the grass.

In the blossoms he shakes

his fine blond locks,

with roguish feeling, like a child.

And now the lark songs can be heard,

and the nightingale sings;

from the mountains roars again

the sound of the cool waterfall.

Around the forest are bright feathers;

It is Spring again

and there is rejoicing everywhere.

And one hears the boy twanging;

golden threads, delicate and gentle,

stir the air in a synthetic commotion,

and a sweet war begins.

There is searching, fleeing, languishing yearning,

until everything tangles itself sweetly.

O blissful labyrinth!