For other English-language translations of this work, see The rustle of the trees is hushed.
III
The humming of the trees has ceased,
Their leaves breathe calmly, neatly;
The bird is dreaming its fair dream
So quietly, so sweetly.
The heavens’ stars have all come out,
All things rest in calm gladness,
But in the breast the sorrow wakes
And in the heart the sadness.
The fragrant blossom’s pretty cup
Receives dew in its centre—
My God, and I, too, feel that dew
In mine eyes gently enter.