  The day’s enamour’d of the night, The springtime loves the winter, And life’s in love with death,— And thou, thou lovest me! Thou lov’st me—thou’rt already seized By fear-inspiring shadows, And all thy blossoms fade, To death thy soul is bleeding. Away from me, and only love The butterflies, gay triflers, Who in the sunlight sport— Away from me and sorrow! |
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