MURMUR OF THE FOREST
’Neath the sun’s rays in the vale Shimmer trembling waters clear; Full of longing, from the brake I look downwards to the lake, Sitting in cool shade I hear Calling quail.
Softly as if half asleep Murmur all the springs and brooks; When among the boughs the sun Shines on waters, quick they run, And like deer, with frightened looks, Wildly leap.
Orioles and thrushes sing— Who can understand them all? Hidden in the trees each bird Singing of the spring is heard, Meaningful they talk and call Twittering.
Says the cuckoo: „Have you seen Our most lovely sister dear? Sister of our summer dreams, Languishing with love she seems. Where art thou? O come, appear, Fairy Queen!“
The old lime-tree shading spread Its dense foliage with sweet flowers, Stretched a branch to catch her arms And to lift her full of charms, Ready to rain fragrant showers On her head.
And the spring asked woefully: „Where art thou, my Queen most sweet? Come, unbind thy silken hair, Mirroring thy face so fair, Touching me with tender feet, Dreamily.“
And I answered: „Forest mine, She comes not, she comes no more; You alone, dear oaks, remain, Wait for those blue eyes again, That for me so oft of yore Bright would shine.“
How much charm did she impart To the groves, all things, that shone As in an enchanted tale! All is now so dark and stale… Come, let’s be again alone Heart to heart.