Юджин Филд (Eugene Field)

Love Song—Heine

Many a beauteous flower doth spring
  From the tears that flood my eyes,
And the nightingale doth sing
  In the burthen of my sighs.

If, O child, thou lovest me,
  Take these flowerets fair and frail,
And my soul shall waft to thee
  Love songs of the nightingale.

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