C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Song: ‘See how from the meadows pass’

Translation of Edgar Taylor

SEE how from the meadows pass

Brilliant flowers and verdant grass;

All their hues now they lose: o’er them hung,

Mournful robes the woods invest,

Late with leafy honors drest.

Yesterday the roses gay blooming sprung,

Beauteously the fields adorning;

Now their sallow branches fail:

Wild her tuneful notes at morning

Sung the lovely nightingale;

Now in woe, mournful, low, is her song.

Nor for lily nor rose sighs he,

Nor for birds’ sweet harmony,

He to whom winter’s gloom brings delight:

Seated by his leman dear,

He forgets the altered year;

Sweetly glide at eventide the moments bright.

Better this than culling posies:

For his lady’s love he deems

Sweeter than the sweetest roses;

Little he the swain esteems

Not possessing that best blessing—love’s delight.