From the Italian of Stecchetti.
I.
When the sere leaves fall and you come one
To find me under the graveyard stone,
It will be in a corner hidden away,
With beds of flowers about it grown.
Then gather and wreathe in your golden hair
The flowers that grow from my heart laid there.
They will be love’s message I might not bring,
And the rest of the songs that I meant to sing.
II.
Floweret born in the hedge-row shade
Set out of sight alone,
Love like thee must hide his head
Love like thee must live unknown.
No smile of the sun, and thou wilt die,
Thorns round thee and above,
No smile of hope, and love will die,
And none take heed.—Poor love! Poor love!
From the German of Heine.