Wie bist du, meine K├Ânigin
My queen, by your gentle goodness


My Queen, by your gentle goodness
You are made sublime.
You've but to smile, spring breezes
Waft through my soul - sublime.

The bloom of newly open roses,
Could even that compare with yours?
Ah, more than all the flowers here,
Your flowering is sublime.

Were you to stroll through arid desert,
Shade of greenery would form
Despite the dreadful temperature
That burns endlessly - sublime.

Oh,let me perish in your arms!
For Death itself, caused even
By the cruellest pain
Within my breast, is made sublime.