If in the grass

If in the grass a new rivulet

Starts up and runs toward the sea,

If the meadow becomes green again,

Spring is about to return...

With your errant locks

The gentle breeze plays,

While you go through the greening

Fields held tight on my breast;

Then life is beautiful, beautiful to me!

But if everything grows pale

And the horizon becomes dark,

It rains in the valley, it thunders on the mountain;

The winter, sad, comes again...

I remain alone, and, fleeting, depart

With the December mists

All the songs, all the kisses from your divine lips;

Then life is sad, sad to me!