Nightingales whistling at night for all lovers,
Silent the town was, and so were the streets,
That lovely fragrance of black locust flowers
Was making you and me silly as kids.
Spring rains had washed the trees and the paths lavishly,
Water was glittering in dark ravines,
O Heaven, how we were credulous childishly,
That youth of ours so far away seems.
Years have passed, life has been running its own way,
Where are those branches, all lit by moonlight?
We have got older, our heads have turned wise and grey,
And of the branches let snowfalls remind.
At times when blizzards are raging for hours
I feel it clearly, and this is my sore:
That lovely fragrance of black locust flowers,
Just like my youth, will be back nevermore.