When you should see the passing of the train,
Remember not the voice that trails behind;
When you should hear the falling of the rain,
Remember not the day that once was fine.
Imagine, instead, the meadow where we’ll sit,
And lie in hands beneath the linden tree,
And if you’re weak against the taxing heat,
I will then let you hop on me, as free
As clouds wandering over the serene vale
And brook, where I pick roses up along,
Whose odor I can’t tell, in the mild gale,
From my sweet Lily’s native scent, so strong
That it sets off the passion of my sweats.
We need not books of tales to pass our time,
Nor Time can seize the treasure in our chests,
For you‘re my fairy queen who lives in mine.
When you should see the passing of the hearse,
Remember well the reason of this verse,
Be not sorry, nor sad, and miss me like a fool,
As I, my love, my dream, am nothing else but you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem