I do not know, whether the sun
accomplished it,
the rain or wind -
but I was missing so
the whiteness and the snow.

I listened to the rustling
of spring rain,
washing the reddish buds
of chestnut-trees, -
and a tiny spring ran down
into the valley from the hill -
and I was missing
the whiteness
and the snow.

And in the yards, and on the slopes
red-cheeked
village maidens
hung up the washings
blown over by the wind
and, leaning,
stared a long while
at the yellow tufts of sallow:

For love is like the wind,
And love is like the water -
it warms up with the spring,
and freezes over - in the autumn.
But to me, I don't know why,
whether the sun
accomplished it,
the rain or wind -
but I was missing so
the whiteness and the snow.

I know - the wind
will blow and blow the washings,
and the rain
will wash and wash the chestnut-trees, -
but love, which melted with
the snow -
will not return.

Deep below the snow sleep
words and feelings:
for today, watching
the dance of rain between the door -
the rain of spring! -
I saw another:

she walked by in the rain,
and beautiful she was,
and smiled:

For love is like the wind,
and love is like the water -
it warms up with the spring
and freezes over - in the autumn,
though to me, I don't know why,
whether the sun
accomplished it,
the rain or wind -
but I was missing so
the whiteness and the snow.

Translated by Clark Mills