It is six o’clock in the morning. I have been out in the pasture and I sat with Farkas, the shepherd, and listened to the sound of his shawm. Ah, how sad it sounded, and yet filled with such ardent rapture, the folk tune that he played! The flowers growing at his feet about his sunburnt cheeks. Oh, Steiner! I have already seen the dew on the grass and you are still asleep into my heart like the spring sun on winter fields. Will there be spring in my heart?