Classic Poem

It is midsummer, the sweet midsummer:
Poor daffodil blossom, what's that to thee?
Thou hast no part in its golden glow,
Thy time of blooming was long ago;
Thou hast no share in its silver dew,
It will not wake to life anew.
What sadder fate can the autumn bring
Than summer does to a flower of spring?

It is midsummer, my life's midsummer:
My sorrowing heart, what's that to thee?
Its joys are things that I cannot share,
'Tis not for me that its days are fair;
For Love for me was an April flower,
Whose beauty went with the passing hour.
What sadder fate can the autumn bring
Than summer does to a flower of spring?