MY sweetheart lays her hand in mine,
When she would have me glad,
She sings and sings, she never knows
What music makes me sad.
My sweetheart holds my heart to hers,
When she would have me rest,
She never hears the heavy sigh
That breaks within my breast.
Her sweet lips press my tired lids,
When she would have me sleep;
Alas, they have no power to stay
The burning tears I weep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem