Classic Poem

Und wüssten's die Blumen, die kleinen

And were it made known to the flowers
How wounded my heart must be,
Their tears would fall in showers
To heal my agony.

If nightingale and linnet
Knew of my sadness and pain,
Their singing would have in it
A far more joyful strain.

If sorrow's tearful traces
The golden stars could see,
They would come down from their places
And try to comfort me.

But they cannot comprehend it —
One, only, knows my pain;
She took my heart to rend it
Again and yet again.