The autumn came, the leaves are falling,
through woods resounds its parting plea;
when spring and nightingales were calling
I missed them on the lonely sea.
How once so bright were sky and hour
that now no longer solace bring:
the ocean's swells refused to flower,
the ocean's tempests did not sing.
So I have spent my young days grieving
and missing spring's enchanting breath;
the autumn sings the song of leaving:
my heart keeps dreaming towards its death.