O lean thy beauteous cheek on mine, That our tears together may mingle! Against my bosom press thou thine, That their flames may no longer be single And when with the flame is mingled at last The stream of our tears all burning, And mine arm is lovingly round thee cast,-- I’ll die of my love’s sweet yearning. 7. I’ll dip my spirit discreetly In the cup of the lily down here; The lily shall sing to me sweetly A song of my mistress dear. The song shall tremble and quiver, Like that delicious kiss, Of which her mouth was the giver In a wondrous moment of bliss. 8. The stars in yonder heavens Immovably have stood For thousands of years, regarding Each other in sad loving mood. They speak a mysterious language That’s rich and sweet to the ear; Yet no philologist living Can make its meaning clear. But I’ve learnt it, and ne’er will forget it, Whatever the time and place; As my grammar I used for the purpose My own dear mistress’s face. 9. On song’s exulting pinion I’ll bear thee, my sweetheart fair, Where Ganges holds his dominion,-- The sweetest of spots know I there. There a red blooming garden is lying In the moonlight silent and clear; The lotos flowers are sighing For their sister so pretty and dear The violets prattle and titter, And gaze on the stars high above The roses mysteriously twitter Their fragrant stories of love. The gazelles so gentle and clever Skip lightly in frolicsome mood And in the distance roars ever The holy river’s loud flood. And there, while joyously sinking Beneath the palm by the stream, And love and repose while drinking Of blissful visions we’ll dream. 10. The lotos flower is troubled At the sun’s resplendent light With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night. The moon appears as her wooer, She wakes at his fond embrace; For him she kindly uncovers Her sweetly flowering face. She blooms and glows and glistens, And mutely gazes above; She weeps and exhales and trembles With love and the sorrows of love. 11. In the Rhine, that beautiful river, The sacred town of Cologne, With its vast cathedral, is ever Full clearly mirror’d and shown. A picture on golden leather In that fair cathedral is seen; On my life, so sad altogether, It hath cast its rays serene. The flowers and angels hover Round our dear Lady there; Her eyes, lips, cheeks, all over Resemble my mistress fair. 12. Thou lov’st me not, thou tellest me.-- It troubles me but slightly; But when thy beauteous face I see, No king’s heart beats more lightly.