Let springtime come

Let springtime come then, when it will,

with verdure greenest,

with flutelike song

of myriad birds,

when all that blossoms

and all that is freshest, loveliest, fairest

waves and flutters away

over meadows, away over fields,

budding in gardens and hiding in woodlands,

shedding its fragrance on waters and waves.

Yet not for me!

My heart is neither leaf nor blossom

and springtime cannot bring me joy:

I must await my own spring.

When? When?