|The wood is decked in light green leaf.
The swallow twitters in delight.
The lonely vine sheds joyous tears
Of interwoven dew and light.
Spring weaves a gown of green to clad
The mountain height and wide-spread field.
O when wilt thou, my native land,
In all thy glory stand revealed?
|The wood is clothed in leaf?
The swallow twitters again,
In the garden the solitary vinestem
Weeps with excess of joy.
The mead is in bloom,
The mountains blossom,
O beloved fatherland
Why dost thou not bloom?
Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops