And now my late sorrows no longer annoy, Made happy at last is my love; For there, with my sweetheart on arm, I with joy Can beneath the sweet linden trees rove.
In father’s garden there silently grows A flow’ret mournful and pale; The spring-time returns, the winter’s frost goes, Pale flow’ret remaineth as pale. The poor pale flower looks still Like a young bride that’s ill.
Pale flow’ret gently saith to me-- “Dear brother, pluck me, I pray!” I answer pale flow’ret--“That must not be, I never will take thee away. I seek with anxious care A purple flow’ret fair.”
Pale flow’ret saith--“Seek here, seek there, Seek e’en till the day of thy death, But still that purple flow’ret fair Thou’lt seek in vain,” she saith. “But, prythee, pluck me now, I am as ill as thou.”
Thus whispers pale flow’ret, beseeching me sore; I tremblingly pluck her, and lo! I find my heart suddenly bleeding no more, Mine inward eye brightly doth glow. Mute angel-rapture blest Now fills my wounded breast.
Yonder, where the stars glow nightly, We shall find those joys smile brightly Which on earth seem far away. Only in Death’s cold embraces Life grows warm, and light replaces Night’s dark gloom at dawn of day.
When I am with my sweetheart kind, A happy youth am I; So great the wealth within my mind, I the whole world could buy.
But when her swanlike arms I quit, In that sad hour of pain, Away my boasted wealth doth flit, And I am poor again.
I would the songs I’m singing Had little flow’rets been; I’d send them to my sweetheart For her to smell, I ween.
I would the songs I’m singing Were kisses all unseen; I’d send them all in secret Upon her cheeks to glean.
I would the songs I’m singing Were little peas so green; I’d make some capital pea-soup All in a soup-tureen!
Of peace, and happiness, and heart, Thou, loved one, long time hast bereft me; And of the gifts that thou hast left me Not one of these doth form a part.
For peace, heart, happiness, hast thou To me a life-long sorrow given, With bitter words commingled even,-- O take _these_ back, my loved one, now.
Remember’st thou those fiery glances In which his trust the novice plac’d? That long-denied first kiss of passion The ardent lover stole in haste?