My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold is so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by...
|
XXX. (30) |
30. |
30. |
Der fernen Gattin |
Liebchen, ich rathe dir jetzt Verderbliches meinen Genüssen, |
Toi que le ciel jaloux ravit dans son printemps ; |
It seemed to be but chance, yet who shall say That on the field where once the cannon’s breath Some little children, in the after-years, |