Here is the Spring passing by; Good day, weaver, good day! My friend, lend me your chair, I need it for a day. I am he who cleanses The woods, the meadows and the flowers. Quickly, lend me your shuttle; I am awaited elsewhere, you know. Here is the Spring passing by; Good day, painter, good day! Your labouring hand grows weary As it makes a likeness of the day. Quickly, lend me your palette, your palette and your brush. You will see the festive sky Revitalised in my picture. Here is the Spring passing by; Good day, maidens, good day! Lend me your spindles, I implore you, That I in my turn may work. Under the arbours I promised My wool to the nests round about. I will tell you, o maidens, the place where love also nestles.