The odour cries in the bud, “Ah me, the day departs, the happy day of spring, and I am a prisoner in !”  
Do not lose heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud will open into flower, and when you die in the fulness of life, even then the spring will live on.
 
The odour pants and flutters within the bud, crying, “Ah me, the hours pass by, yet I do not know where I go, or what it is I seek!”
 
Do not lose hear............