Loibere Risen [English translation]

The leaves blow from the trees deep in the valley

Barren are the branches

Flowers die away, all the wreathes that decorated

the circle dance1 are withered

It stares at the tree roots

with an icy frost:

Solemnly, I will grieve, with this in mind

Come, lovely dreams, bring winter warm comfort

New joy will come

Let us welcome a thousand joys this hour

More than May can bring

Roses sprout on the red lips of women

Let us sing

But winter's rage

is upon their faces

Every sense sprinkled in fragrance

They have arisen, I do not know of a greater joy

Than when I rejoice in love

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circle_dance