When your song rang out to me

Your song rang out: I heard it

as it soared through the roses to the moon.

The butterfly that flew colorfully in the spring

you have converted into a pious bee.

My urge is toward the rose,

Since your song rang out to me.

Your song rang out: the nightingales are singing,

alas, the sweet swan song of my repose

To the moon, who watches and listens from the sky,

to the stars and the roses I must tell my complaint:

whither she has now soared,

the one to whom this song rang out!

Your song rang out; no tone was in vain.

All of springtime, which breathes love,

while you sang dipped itself

into the desire-filled stream of my life,

into the sunset,

as your song rang out to me!