I’ll repeat in hour of parting
When love comes to end
That I loved, yes that I loved truly
Your masterful hands
And the eyes—somebody isn’t
Gifted with a glance!—
Those that answer are demanding
For a look every chance.
You with your thrice-cursed passion—
God sees all, say I!
And demanding a payment for
An accidental sigh.
And I tiredly say, to listen
Hurry not at all!
Why is it that your own soul
Stands across my soul.
And again I’ll also tell you:
All the same—hear this!—
Far too young was this my mouth
For your gentle kiss.
Glance is luminous and daring,
Heart—like five year old …
Happy’s he who did not meet you
On your road.