O dearest, canst thou tell me why
The rose should be so pale?
And why the azure violet
Should wither in the vale?
And why the lark should in the cloud
So sorrowfully sing?
And why from loveliest balsam-buds
A scent of death should spring?
And why the sun upon the mead
So chillingly should frown?
And why the earth should, like a grave,
Be moldering and brown?
And why it is that I myself
So languishing should be?
And why it is, my heart of hearts,
That thou forsakest me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
tis the winter of love, he either did something to offend, or she found another lover; either way time to play, another somebody done somebody wrong song