There sat upon the linden-tree
A bird, and sang its strain;
So sweet it sang, that, as I heard,
My heart went back again.
It went to one remember'd spot,
It saw the rose-trees grow,
And thought again the thoughts of love
There cherish'd long ago.

A thousand years to me it seems
Since by my fair I sate,
Yet thus t' have been a stranger long
Was not my choice, but fate:
Since then I have not seen the flowers,
Nor heard the birds' sweet song;
My joys shave all too briefly past,
My griefs been all too long.