Translated From The German of Ernst Schulze.
OH come, sweet Spring, thy budding flowers unfold;
Within the woods awake the song-bird’s lay,
And gloriously adorn thy kingdom gay
With light, perfume, and clouds beflecked with gold.
All trees shall chant in Love’s own murmurous tone,
With Love the stream shall sing, the forest glow:
My heart, perchance, that home of midnight woe,
Circled with joy, shall deem that joy its own.
Alas for me! Why sadly, mutely look
After long-vanished beams, that once were bright?
Why call in vain the ghosts of days more fair?
She who from out my life all gladness took,
From Springtide, too, has stolen Love’s delight,
And nothing left, save only Love’s despair.
(Constance Naden)
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