Johann Wolfgang Goeth
Let him say goodbye with his eyes,
since to say it deny my lips
Farewell is a serious thing
even for a man, like me, tempered!
Sad in the trance it makes us even
of love the sweetest and most tender proof;
cold I crave the kiss of your mouth
loose your hand, let mine hold.
The slightest caress, in another time
furtive and flighty, I loved it!
It was something like the precocious violet,
which started in the gardens in March.
No more will I cut fragrant roses
to crown your forehead with them.
Paquita is spring, but autumn
for me, unfortunately, it will always be.