You cannot bid the flower not bloom; it thrives
When, on mild zephyrs’ wings, the spring arrives.
A girl is spring, her love a scented flower,
Which buds and blooms ’neath balmy air and shower.
When first I saw thee, dear, I fell in love
With thy fair soul the tender charm thereof.
With that soul’s beauty, which I ever see
Reflected in thine eyes bewitchingly.
The question rises sometimes in my breast —
Shall I, or others by thy love be blessed?
These thoughts pursue each other in my mind,
As sun rays’ clouds, when blows the autumn wind.
Knew I another waited thy embrace,
Could kiss the milk and roses of thy face,
My broken heart I far away would bear,
Or end in death the depth of my despair.
Shine down on me, O star, so born to bless!
And light the dreary night of my distress!
O my heart’s pearl! if thou can’st love me, love,
And blessing shall be thine from God above.
