In Spring

 Quietly I sit on the hill's slope.
 The sky is so clear;
 a breeze plays in the green valley.
 Where I was at Spring's first sunbeam
 once - alas, I was so happy!
 When I was walking at her side,
 So intimate and so close,
 and deep in the dark rocky spring
 was the beautiful sky, blue and bright;
 and she gazing into the sky.
 Look how colorful Spring already
 looks out from bud and blossom!
 Not every blossom is the same for me:
 I like best to pick from the branch
 from which she picked hers!
 For all is as it was:
 the flowers, the field;
 the sun does not shine less brightly,
 nor does the spring reflect any less charmingly
 the blue image of the sky.
 The only things that change are will and delusion:
 Joys and quarrels alternate,
 the happiness of love flies past,
 and only the love remains -
 The love and, also, the sorrow.
 Oh, if only I were a little bird,
 there, on the meadow's slope,
 then I would remain here on these branches,
 and sing a sweet song about her
 the whole summer long.