The magic flower

A flowerlet blooms beside quiet springs,

And breathes forth the sweet scent of life.

It bathes within the clear waves,

And merrily with the swelling of springtime

Its bud stirs in the breeze.

The lea is already turning green with sweet effulgence,

And joy colours gentle cheeks.

Spring is glowing from a thousand branches

Nature has happily made herself young again.

Young people are forming the merry roundelay,

Listen how through the silence of the glade

The sweet song of the birds is ringing.

Yet more beautiful than the sounds within the song

Is the colouring of the delicate blossom beside the spring.

And it becomes summer in the young life,

And the cool night lingers less long,

And every striving becomes more fiery;

Strength stirs in the tender grapevines,

The field shines in golden splendour,

The bud wishes to burst its case

And unfold magnificently into a flower.

And higher climbs the sun on its journey,

It glows in the thickly verdured valley.

The fog's haze has dissipated.

The clear waterwell dries up and perishes,

The spring runs dry in the glare of the sun.

But even more freshly in the fullness of youth

The flowerlet's petals unfurl.

The coolness of the aging year comes along,

The gold of the grape shines forth in ripeness.

The sun sinks along the curve of the heavens,

Nurtured within, the fruit

Swells forth from the death of the blossom,

Yet eternally beautiful in its dainty garb

The sweet joy of the flower portrays itself.

The swallow sweeps through the fields,

The bee draws upon the spoils of spring,

The whirlwind whistles through the woods,

The purple vine colours the winepress,

And the dry foliage falls with a rustling;

Yet, free of the stern laws of the world,

The flowerlet unveils its treasures.

Then Winter with his chain of iron

Plunges down from the mountains.

He makes the world into a gravesite,

And with the silvery smoothness of ice

He shackles the womb of the world,

And upon the desolate meadows

Murders the last traces of frail life.

But as if it had been conceived by the gods,

The sweet splendour of the flowerlet stirs.

It glows upward with a yearning fervour,

And adorns the world with the finery of spring,

And lights the vast night,

Glowing upwards into the freedom of heaven:

The flowerlet of eternal faithfulness in love.