Classic Poem

To G, her one and only rose,
Her A this bond of true love shows.
Ah, how can I endure the pain
Or patience to the utmost strain
Till you have come back home again?
Am I a stone that should not yearn,
Do you believe, for your return?
All day, all night, I'm anguish-tossed
Like one who foot and hand has lost.
Without you, all that joys my blood
Is little more than trampled mud.
Far from rejoicing, I shed tears
And never happiness appears.
When I recall how you caressed
So joyously, my little breast
I want to die. Since we can't greet,
What for the most unhappy's meet,
And where should I, the poorest, turn?
Oh, that the earth could me inturn
Until your long-desired return,
Or that, like Habbakuk in trance,
I might come once your face to glance!
That happy hour could be my last;
You, by none of the world surpassed,
So lovable, so dear to sense,
So true, so void of all pretence!
I shall not cease from endless pain
Till I win sight of you again.
A sage said greatest misery
Comes when a man is far from he
Without whose sight he cannot be;
While this world lasts you'll never part
From the true centre of my heart,
So there's no need to say yet more.
Return, oh thou whom I adore!
No longer distant from me dwell,
Absence is a mastering hell.
And so, remember me! Farewell.