Classic Poem

Flowing in the sunlight here,
The river shines like a glass,
Even as it did last year;
On the hillside the grass
Bows, as the breezes pass —
But my love is gone, my love is gone.

Where is she — where, and how?
Has she forgotten me yet?
Ah, she has forgotten me now!
She is too lovely for regret:
Would that I ever could forget,
My love is gone, my love is gone!

It is so still — so still ...
The sound of a rumbling train
Rushes into the hill.
Autumn comes again
With the old wonder and pain —
But love comes never again