No. 18.
In the spring, ah happy day!
Underneath a leafy spray
With her sister stands my may.
O sweet love!
He who now is reft of thee
Poor is he!
Ah, the trees, how fair they flower
Birds are singing in the bower;
Maidens feel of love the power.
O sweet love!
See the lilies, how they blow!
And the maidens row by row
Praise the best of gods below.
O sweet love!
If I held my sweetheart now,
In the wood beneath the bough,
I would kiss her, lip and brow.
O sweet love!
He who now is reft of thee,
Poor is he!
At another time he has clasped it, but he trembles lest it should
escape him.