Die blauen Frühlingsaugen

The deep, blue eyes of Springtime
Peer from the grass beneath;
They are the tender violets
That I will twine in a wreath.

I pick them and I ponder —
And all my hopes and aims,
All of my hidden fancies
The nightingale proclaims!

Yes, all that I think, he echoes
In a loud and lyric mood;
And now my deepest secret
Is known to all the wood.