Spring
Spring, O spring! How pure the air, how clear the vault of heaven! With its bright azure it blinds my eyes.
Spring, O spring! How, upon the pinions of the wind, caressing the sunbeams, the clouds flit upon high!
The rivulets babble, the rivulets sparkle; roaring the river carries on its triumphant back the uplifted ice.
The trees are still bare, but in the grove the old leaves, as before, rustle under foot and emit fragrance.
Rising to the very sun and invisible in the clear height, the lark sings the song of welcome to the spring.
What has happened to my soul? With the brook it is a brook, and with the bird a bird: with one it babbles, with the other flies into heaven.
Why do sun and spring give it such joy? Does it, as a daughter of the elements, make merry at their banquet?
Well, happy is he who there drinks oblivion from thought, who there is carried far away from it!
Spring, O spring! How, upon the pinions of the wind, caressing the sunbeams, the clouds flit upon high!
The rivulets babble, the rivulets sparkle; roaring the river carries on its triumphant back the uplifted ice.
The trees are still bare, but in the grove the old leaves, as before, rustle under foot and emit fragrance.
Rising to the very sun and invisible in the clear height, the lark sings the song of welcome to the spring.
What has happened to my soul? With the brook it is a brook, and with the bird a bird: with one it babbles, with the other flies into heaven.
Why do sun and spring give it such joy? Does it, as a daughter of the elements, make merry at their banquet?
Well, happy is he who there drinks oblivion from thought, who there is carried far away from it!
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