The only one out of all the throng, Whose footfall I knew, And could tell it so true, That I leapt to see as she passed along,
As she passed along with her beautiful face, Which knew full well Though it did not tell, That I was there in the window-space.
Now my sense is never so clear. It cheats my heart, Making me start A thousand times, when she is not near.
When she is not near, but so far away, I could not come To the place of her home, Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day.
Do you wonder then if I wish the street Were grown with grass, And no foot might pass Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?
Crimson and cream and white - My room is a garden of roses! Centre and left and right, Three several splendid posies.
As the sender is, they are sweet, These lovely gifts of your sending, With the stifling summer heat Their delicate fragrance blending.
What more can my heart desire? Has it lost the power to be grateful? Is it only a burnt-out fire, Whose ashes are dull and hateful?