I too shall sing thy glory, Spring,

Oh, season in thyself a song;

In every tongue thy name doth ring

With music we remember long.

Fruehling! Primavera! Spring!

Thy name to whisper is to sing.

Why should I seek sweet melody

And softly sounding words to say

All that the spring-time means to me?

Why should I make an effort, pray,

When Fruehling! primavera! spring!

To whisper only is to sing.