Poem – Translated from Geibel

O say, thou wild, thou oft deceived heart,
What mean these noisy throbbings in my breast?

After thy long, unutterable woe

Wouldst thou not rest?
Fall’n from Life’s tree the sweet rose-blossom lies,

And fragrant youth has fled. What made to seem

This earth as fair to thee as Paradise,

Was all a dream.
The blossom fell, the thorn was left to me;

Deep from the wound the blood-drops ever flow,

All that I have are yearnings, wild desires,

And wrath and woe.
They brought me Lethe’s water, saying, ‘Drink!’

‘Drink, for the draught is sweet,’ I heard them say,

‘Shalt learn how soft a thing forgetting is.’

I answered : ‘Nay.’
What tho’ indeed it were an idle cheat,

Nathless to me ’twas very fair and blest:

With every breath I draw I know that love

Reigns in my breast.
Let me go forth,–and thou, my heart, bleed on:

A lonely spot I seek by night and day,

That love and sorrow I may there breathe forth

In a last lay. 

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