Such a fool, alas!—am I;
Sun and moon and stars are laughing,
I laugh, too,—and die.
Little maid, with lips so rosy,
With thy blue eyes, sweet and clear,
All my thoughts to thee are flying,
All my life is with thee, dear!
Slowly pace the leaden-footed
Hours that mark the winter’s night;
Ah, that I were now beside thee,