I have many an hour with you worn out and enjoyed
and never has an hour with you bored me for a moment.
I have many a flower for you
read and given, and, like a bee, with you, with you,
drank honey from it; but never an hour as sweet with you,
as long as it could last, but never an hour as sad for you,
when I had to leave you, as the hour when I close to you,
that night, sitting down, heard you talking and said to you
that which our souls know. Never a flower as beautiful from you
sought, picked, read, like that night that shimmered on you,
and I could call my own. And just as well, as well for me as you,
-who will cure this evil?- an hour with me, an hour with you,
wasn’t allowed to be an hour for long;
And just as well for me, and just as well for you, so endearing and exalted,
the rose, even if it was a rose from you, wasn’t allowed to be a rose for long,
yet long preserved, this I say to you, even if I’d lose it all,
my heart three treasured images: you, the night and the rose.