Why are you weeping, little flower?
The little flower laughed: ‘What do you mean!
I am happy, I do not weep –
It’s tears of joy that well in my eyes.’
O morning sky, you are blood red,
As though the sun lay dead in the sea.
Heaven then laughed and cried to me:
‘I spread roses on its path!’
And with blazing beams the sun arose,
Flowers bloomed joyously upwards.
The waves of the brooklet rejoiced,
And the sun broke out in happy laughter.
On a clear morning
The valley resounds brightly:
Wake up, dear flower,
I am the ray of the sun!
Trust me, and open up
Your little flower chamber
And let burning love
Penetrate your sanctuary.
After all, I only wish
To lie on your bosom
And kiss your blossoms,
Before they wither in the moss.
After all, I only desire
To rest on your bosom
And transfigure you
With sun-bright joy.
This is a day of sound rejoicing –
The quail sings in the corn,
The lark rejoices in song
Over the bright green hedge,
The hunter winds his horn.
Mistress Nightingale calls so sweetly,
A whisper can be heard through the foliage,
The echo resounds,
Everywhere – sound and song.
That is a true spring song.
The joy, O the joy to sing a song
From the mountain down to the valley!
The smallest sound echoes down
As if on giant pinions!
The faintest breath from the purest heart
That fashions songs in grief and joy,
Unwittingly becomes a song
Sung for all the world.
Earthward and heavenward it soars,
The ringing longing of the soul,
And touches the heart of the whole world –
Whether in joy or in tears.
What is wont to move quietly though the breast
Now soars away on loud wings.
The joy, O the joy to sing a song
From the mountain down to the valley!