Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.
Rispetto
Was that his step that sounded on the stair?
Was that his knock I heard upon the door?
I grow so tired I almost cease to care,
And yet I would that he might come once more.
It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me,
The bitter wind that is more cruel than he;
It was the wind that knocked upon the door,
But he will never knock nor enter more.
Less than the Cloud to the Wind
Less than the cloud to the wind,
Less than the foam to the sea,
Less than the rose to the storm
Am I to thee.
More than the star to the night,
More than the rain to the lea,
More than heaven to earth
Art thou to me.
Buried Love
I shall bury my weary Love
Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head,
Nor stone at his feet,
For the mouth I loved so much
Was bittersweet.