NightingaleAt the whispering of the breeze,
At the murmuring of the waves,
Let us sing with pleasure
Amid the sweet enjoyment,
The honor and praise
Of the new season.
And let our song
Be of spring
Herald every joy.

Hear the nightingale
On the new branch
How pleasure fills him
And how he speaks of love.
Happily flying off
He faithfully seeks his nest
And the pleasure which awaits. Him.

And he rouses our devotion
To spring,
Happy herald of love.

The hills smiles, the meadow smiles
Amid violets, lilies and roses
And loving
Breezes waft by.
The faithful swallow, happy too,
Returns to us for her delight.

EggsThis is the lovely new season
Which, in giving life
To the grass, the followers,
Reveals love
To our hearts.
Welcome, at last she thaws
The bitter harshness of snow and frost.

Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741)


One thought on “Spring

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