English
Whisper Your secrets into my ears, O supreme friend. The sufferings of all in summer convey to me in Your songs, in Your songs, in Your songs. The flower blossoms have burned and dried, and the unopened buds have fallen on the path. The river's flow evaporates in the air. Is this pain only mine, or shared by all creatures? Lord, whisper into my ears. The grass sprouts want to awaken, but do not, for fear of the heat, and the ice melts in the warmth, like tears.
