The stones in the streamlet I make my bright pillow,
And open my arms to the swift-rolling billow,
That lovingly hastens to fall on my breast.
Then fickleness soon bids it onwards be flowing;
A second draws nigh, its caresses bestowing,—
And so by a twofold enjoyment I'm blest.
And yet thou art trailing in sorrow and sadness
The moments that life, as it flies, gave for gladness.
Because by thy love thou'rt remembered no more!
Oh, call back to mind former days and their blisses!
The lips of the second will give as sweet kisses
As any the lips of the first gave before!