Paraphrases on Heine.
203
XXIII.
I.
WHY are the roses so pale? O! tell me my Love, say why,And why in the fresh green grass Do the violets motionless lie?II.
Why sings in so mournful a strain, The lark as she soars from the tree,And bears on the soft wooing breeze, Only a death-scent to me?
III.
Why shines the sun on mine eye, So angrily down, and so cold?And why does the earth look so grey, And barren as e'en the death-mould?
IV.
And why am I weary and sad, My darling, my darling, O say,O! tell me, my only beloved one, Why hast thou forsaken me, say?
