At Loschwitz above the city

The air is sunny and chill;

The birch-trees and the pine-trees

Grow thick upon the hill.

Lone and tall, with silver stem,

A birch-tree stands apart;

The passionate wind of spring-time

Stirs in its leafy heart.

I lean against the birch-tree,

My arms around it twine;

It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,

Like a human heart to mine.

One moment I stand, then sudden

Let loose mine arms that cling:

O God! the lonely hillside,

The passionate wind of spring!