On a walk

Into a friendly little town I stroll -

in its streets lie the red evening glow.

From an open window,

across the most splendid riot of flowers,

one can hear gold chimes floating past,

and its one voice sounds like a chorus of nightingales,

so that the blossoms tremble,

so that the breezes come to life,

and so that the roses glow even redder.

Long I pause, astounded and oppressed by joy.

How I finally found myself past the gate

I truly do not myself know.

Ah, here, how lightly does the world lie!

The heavens sway in a purple crowd,

back there, the town is a golden haze:

how the alder brook rushes, how the mill roars on the ground;

I am as if drunk and disoriented;

o Muse, you have stirred my heart

with a breath of love!