FROM H. HEINE'S "BUCH DER LIEDER."
Warm summer dwells upon thy cheeks
And in thy dancing eyes;
But in thy little heart, fair child,
Cold, frosty winter lies.
Yet these, I think, as years grow on,
Will play a different part;
Then, winter on thy cheeks shall be,
And summer in thy heart.
Hast thou forgotten, quite forgotten, dear,
That I possessed thy heart for many a year?
Thy little heart, so small, so false, so sweet,
Sweetest and falsest heart that ever beat.
The love and pain hast thou forgotten, dear,
That weighed upon my heart for many a year;
I know not which was greater of the twain,
Only that they were great, both love and pain.
I longed to linger, resting
Beside you, free from care;
But you ran off, protesting
You had no time to spare.
I vowed my soul should never
Know other queen but you;
You only laughed, however,
And dropped a curtsy, too.
All day you sorely tried me;
And, not content with this,
You cruelly denied me
Even a farewell kiss.
But if you will not soften,
I shall survive it still;
I've been through this so often,
Sweet—and it does not kill.