Through desolate spring skies the sun broke clear.
A flight of birds dropped in a sudden sheer.
The thinly sown snow melted on the earth.
Heart, you are free: you had no grounds for fear.
Of life my expectations have been slight,
Joy’s just a thing to which we go on clinging.
What does it matter? – In the cold spring night
Once more the immortal nightingales are singing.