Ah, were he but a noble, A knight of the Golden Fleece! Love, thou art full of trouble, Love, thou art full of peace. II. Two days now have passed already, Since I gave him that first kiss; Ever since that fatal hour All with me has gone amiss. My dear little room, so pretty, Where so nice a life I led, Is now in such dire confusion. That it almost turns my head. My sweet roses and carnations, Withered now, for care ye pine! Oh, I think, instead of water, I have deluged you with wine. My dear lovely snow-white pigeon Has no water and no bread; And the goldfinch in his cage there Looks as if he were half dead. I am putting blue and red yarn In my white net as I knit; And I work in my embroidery White wool where it doth not fit. Where are Parcival and Theuerdank? If I only, only knew! I believe that I those poets In the kitchen-pantry threw. And the kitchen plates are standing On the book-case--what a shame! Ah, for all these many blunders I my love, my love must blame! III. Away he is gone in the wide wide world; No word of farewell has he spoken. Thou fresh young player in wood and mead, Thou sun whose light is my daily need, When wilt thou send me a token? I hardly had time in his eyes to gaze, When the dream already had vanished; Oh Love, why dost thou two lovers unite, With thy burning torch their hearts ignite, When their bliss so soon must be banished? And where does he go? The world is so large, So full of deep snares for a rover. He even may go to Italia, where The women, I hear, are so false and so fair! May Heaven protect my dear lover. FIVE YEARS LATER. WERNER'S SONGS FROM ITALY. I. Too well were all things going, Therefore it could not last; My cheeks my grief are showing, Misfortune came too fast. The violet and clover, The flowers all are gone. 'Mid frost and snow, a rover I wander sad alone. Good luck will never favour The man who nothing dares; But he who does not waver The smile of fortune shares. II. A lonely rock juts upward Just by the craggy strand; The angry foaming waters Have torn it from the land. Now in green waves half sunken Defiantly it lies; The snow-white gulls are flying Around it with shrill cries. There on the heaving billows Is dancing a light boat; The sounds of plaintive singing Up to the lone rock float: