Mit Myrten und Rosen, lieblich und hold
With myrtle and roses in their prime

Liederkreis op 24 (Heine) Liederkreis op 24 (Heine)


With myrtle and roses in their prime,
Cypress sweet and gold leaf fine
I’ll make this book a memorial shrine
And bury there these songs of mine.

If I could but bury my love also!
The flower of peace on love’s grave will grow;
But my peace flower will not bloom
Till I lie buried in my tomb.

Here, then, are the songs that once,
Wild as lava streams from Etna,
Burst from deep within my heart,
Showering sparks on every part.

Now, they lie silent, like to death,
Bound by cold, and misty pale,
But their former glow could be revived
Should the spirit of love once prevail.

And in my heart I feel with awe
That love’s spirit will one day thaw,
One day this book will reach your hand,
My dearest love, in a foreign land.

Then the spell that mutes this song
Will break, the pallid script will reappear,
See into your lovely eyes, implore,
Whispering longingly, adore.