Beneath the whispering trees we lingered late,
Hand clasped in hand, my dearest love and I,
And he spake words I never can forget,
Of tender trust and love, until I die;
And with his eyes what lips would fail to tell
He spoke, what time he said: ‘Sweetheart, farewell.’
With sweet caress he clasped me to his breast,
And looked upon me as with angel’s eyes,
And kissed my brow, and kissed my lips, and kissed
The tears away that now began to rise;
And ever the same tale of love would tell,
What time he sadly spoke: ‘Sweetheart, farewell.’
And so he went away, and I am weary
Of nature’s smiles—my heart is full of strife—
The long, long days without him are so dreary,
And all the bright has faded out of life.
‘Come back, my love, the old sweet tale to tell,
But nevermore to say: “Sweetheart, farewell.”’