There it is in its beauty， all radiant and fair；
And should she pass by， I’ve nothing to say，
We are both of us silent and have our own way.
I talk to the birds， the wind and the rain；
My love to my dear one I never explain；
I talk to the flowers which are growing all wild，
As if one was herself and the other her child；
I utter sweet words in my fanciful way，
But if she comes by I’ve nothing to say；
To look for a kiss I would if I dare，
But I feel myself lost when near to my fair.
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