Themes and Variations/From Heine
FROM HEINE.
I.
With myrtle and roses,
Perfumed and cold,
With weeping laburnum
And marigold,
I will garland this book
Like some holy shrine,
And wrap in its shroud
These sad songs of mine.
Oh, if Love, too, could sleep in its funeral fold!
Perfumed and cold,
With weeping laburnum
And marigold,
I will garland this book
Like some holy shrine,
And wrap in its shroud
These sad songs of mine.
Oh, if Love, too, could sleep in its funeral fold!
II.
This sunshiny summer morning
The trees by the south wind are stirred,
The roses are whispering together;
I only have never a word.
The roses are nodding and whispering,
‘O Love! Let us love while we may,
Reproach not our sister, our darling,
Though lonely she leaves us to-day.’
The trees by the south wind are stirred,
The roses are whispering together;
I only have never a word.
The roses are nodding and whispering,
‘O Love! Let us love while we may,
Reproach not our sister, our darling,
Though lonely she leaves us to-day.’