From The Venetian Of Buratti
Pleasant were it, Nina mine!
Could our Hearts, by fairy powers,
Renovate their life divine,
Like the trees and herbs and flowers.
So might we, in fond accord,
As the fresh ripe Hearts appear;
Each the other's Love reward,
With the first--fruits of the year.
Fragrance from that wondrous plant
Might your giddy sex restrain,--
Such refreshment would enchant
The most faithless back again.
But in restless pleasure using
One poor Heart, from year to year,
We shall both our Hearts be losing,--
Worn to nothing,--Nina dear!
Oh! what a May--day,--what a dear May--day!
Feel, what a breeze, love,
Undulates o'er us,--
Meadow and trees, love,
Glisten before us,--
Light, in all showers,
Falls from the flowers,
Hear, how they ask us, ``Come and sit down.''--(Bis.)
Well, let us rest with them,--well let us rest with them,
Two other blossoms,
Quiet and lonely,
While from their bosoms
We shall be stealing
Things that most surely the world doesn't know.--(Bis.)
Guess, my own Nina,--guess, my own Nina,
What they are singing!
That a deep passion,
Rooted and clinging
I' the right fashion,
Never can measure
Fulness of pleasure,
But when together alone,--all alone!--(Bis.)
Fare you well, old world!--fare you well, old world!
This one is ours,
We and the flowers
Where, never jealous,
Nightingales tell us
What they know, oh! how much, better than we!--(Bis.)
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