European Elegies/Spring/On the old bridge
71.ON THE OLD BRIDGE
Upon the old bridge, marred with mossAnd lichens' red corrosion, hereTwo whispering lovers leaned across: 'Twas we, my dear!
He, urging tenderly his plea,Laid all his life before her feetAnd pledged her his fidelity: 'Twas I, my sweet!
And she seemed hesitant and pale,Trembled yet did not disapprove,As listening to a far-off tale: 'Twas you, my love!
On the old bridge two lovers passOnce more to hold sweet rendez-vous.He tells his love; she smiles: alas, Not, not we two!
From the French of Auguste Angellier.