when the spring comes in with its bright sun-light, then joyously flowerets blossom and sprout
when the moon on her radiant course sets out, then the stars swim after her through the night.
and when the bard looks into two clear eyes, then lyrics from his inmost soul arise.
but lyrics and stars and flowerets bright, and clear eyes and moonbeam and warm sunlight,
However delightful we think they are , Do not make up a wholesome world, by far.
when November winds are stripping bare the forests worn and weary.
as we drew towards the boundary i felt my pulses leaping
within my bosom for delight; i think i started weeping.
and when i heard the German tongue, 'Twas with such curious gladness
i seemed to feel my heart's blood ebb Without regret or sadness.
a little maiden with a harp Entuned a common ditty
the voice was false; but the pathos true; it touched my heart to pity.
she sang our mortal vale of tears, the joys that end in sadness,
she sang of love and lovers' woes, of loss, and fates that sever,
of meetings in a better land where grief is purged for ever.
the world where souls, redeemed at last, Attain eternal gladness.
she sang the epopee of heaven, the song of lost and sighing,
with which they lull the populace, Big booby! when it's crying.