In summer woods

How jubilant the summer sky,

when turtle doves and cuckoos cry,

And when in wild and leafy wood

the song of nightingale is heard.

We wander in the shady grove,

and where red berries are we rove;

The ousel pipes his music low

and finches drum upon the bough.

Beside the blackcap vine we stay

on tender moss where shadows play

And flitting by, the cuckoo's brood

go babbling through the leafy wood.