From Love Poems, by Bertolt Brecht, translated by David Constantine and Tom Kuhn
THE RIVER SINGS PRAISES...
The river sings praises. Stars in the trees.
The smell of thyme and peppermint.
Our brows are freshened by a little breeze
We are the children, this is God's present.
The grass is soft: the woman without bitterness
The lovely willows make everything rejoice:
Pleasure's a certainty for those who will say yes.
Never again will you want to leave this place.