My back is turned on Spring and all her flowers,
  The birds no longer charm from tree to tree;
The cuckoo had his home in this green world
  Ten days before his voice was heard by me.

Had I an answer from a dear one's lips,
  My love of life would soon regain its power;
And suckle my sweet dreams, that tug my heart,
  And whimper to be nourished every hour.

Give me that answer now, and then my Muse,
  That for my sweet life's sake must never die,
Will rise like that great wave that leaps and hangs
  The sea-weed on a vessel's mast-top high.