Come, dear May, and make the trees green again

Come, dear May, and make

the trees green again,

and by the brook, let

the little violets bloom for me!

How I would love

to see a violet again -

ah, dear May, how gladly

I would take a walk!

It is true that winter days have

much joy as well:

one can trot in the snow

and play many games in the evening;

build little houses of cards,

play blind-man's-buff and forfeits;

also go tobogganing

in the lovely open countryside.

But when the birds sing

and we joyously and quickly

jump and bounce on the green turf -

this is another thing!

Now my stick-horse must

stand in the corner there;

for outside in the garden

one cannot walk because of the dung.

Most of all,

Lottchen's sorrow weighs on me:

the poor girl waits so gloomily

for the flowers to bloom.

In vain I bring her games

to pass the time,

but she sits on her stool

like a little hen on an egg.

Ah, if only it would grow milder

and greener out there!

Come, dear may! we children,

we beg you!

O come and bring for us, before anyone else,

lots of violets!

Bring also lots of nightingales

and pretty cuckoos!