Spring summons the earth to a wedding
(But who will wed me?).
I hurry, on thin ice treading,
To the ceremony.
She's braiding her hair with violets
Of humble birth.
Will you remain barren much longer now,
I've got to go. My heart's aching
For sunny ground.
So over thin ice I hasten
The way of the drowned.
Don't say, if I die: 'Too rapidly
She used up her strength...'
I ran to catch up with happiness
For the World and myself...
Translated by Peter Tempest
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem