Oh, hearken to Spring's hymn of peace
sung softly in a mountain crease.
Where tall grass grows,
a fast stream flows
and gleaming rays of rising sun
disperse the gloom of dark canyon.

The canticle's sung by a choir
of flora spread from muddy mire
along the rill,
up steep-sloped hill
until it reaches crescendo
on this magnificent plateau.

One can't resist Spring's melody
which soothes, its balm serenity,
a mellow tune
heard all through June
in hidden vale, a mountain dell
where crowds of flowers cast their spell.