Rose Duftet — Doch ob sie Empfindet, Die

Die Rose duftet — doch ob sie empfindet

The rose is fragrant — but can she be feeling
All she breathes forth? Can the nightingale
Feel half his own rapture, half the appealing
Poignance that wakes to his lyrical hail?

I do not know. The truth may grieve us;
And why should we be quick to see
That such deceptions may deceive us;
If these are lies — well, let them be.
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