Classic Poem

Man glaubt, dass ich mich gräme

They think that I am tortured
Beneath a bitter yoke;
And I have come to believe it
As well as other folk.

Oh little, great-eyed maiden,
I've told thee time and again,
That beyond words I love thee,
That Love gnaws my heart in twain.

But in my own room only
I've said this thing — for see,
When I am in thy presence
No word escapes from me.

For there were evil angels
That sealed my lips somehow;
And through these evil angels
I am so wretched now.