This little chime they play, matinal, wandering, revives thy vanished Spring, my heart, at break of day. This little chime they play, at the fresh heart of day, light, near and far away, has changed my destiny. What! Since this hour, shall I survive while joys depart, faint, chiming melody that thus renews my heart? So far, monotonous, and lost, so wholly lost, O little wandering air to heaven's fresh heart uptossed, you depart, return, chime on, like love you rove and stray, you tremble on my heart in the clear dawn of day. What! Could one's life be thus, rural, monotonous, sweet even as is, nearby, this little melody? sweet, simple, far away, as it afar is borne, this little, trembling air at the fresh heart of morn? |