226
Maudit printemps.
Depart, and I should see her now,
Rising, when sleep has passed away,
Fresh as they paint Aurora's brow,
Parting the curtains of the day.
And still my lips would breathe at night,
"Alas! my star has ceased to burn!
She sleeps—no more I see her light."—
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return?
Rising, when sleep has passed away,
Fresh as they paint Aurora's brow,
Parting the curtains of the day.
And still my lips would breathe at night,
"Alas! my star has ceased to burn!
She sleeps—no more I see her light."—
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return?
I pine till Winter comes again.
Would that I heard, with welcome sound,
Tinkling against the window-pane,
The hailstones rattle and rebound.
If all thine ancient realm were mine,
Thy gales, thy flowers, thy warmth I'd spurn,
Since here no more her smiles can shine.
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return.
Would that I heard, with welcome sound,
Tinkling against the window-pane,
The hailstones rattle and rebound.
If all thine ancient realm were mine,
Thy gales, thy flowers, thy warmth I'd spurn,
Since here no more her smiles can shine.
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return.
