The forest is silent,
Without noise, without cheer;
The nightingale is only singing,
Sad solitude sheer.
Like the distant forest,
My heart has fallen silent;
It can't hear any cheer,
Except nightingale's fear.
The fear has made her mute,
She no longer plays her flute;
She can't sing the song of joy,
But a little word of cry.
Cheer up my love, nightingale,
Life is more than a death's tale,
When the death comes, as it will, some day,
Let it be so meaningful in a way,
That the world will have to say,
Her life, and her death,
Have made our sweetest day.
