Fleur jetée
Discarded Flower

Silvestre

Rid me of my madness
Wayward as the wind,
Flower picked while singing,
And cast off in a dream,
Rid me of my madness,
Wayward as the wind.

Like the flower cut down,
Love dies.
The hand which touched you
Flees my hand not to return.
Like the flower cut down,
Love dies.

May the wind that withers you,
O poor flower,
So fresh now,
But colourless tomorrow,
May the wind that withers you
Wither my heart.