The nosegay Matilda twined for me,
And smilingly offer’d entreatingly,
I push’d away, o’erpower’d completely
By the sight of the flowers that blossom’d so sweetly.
At the scent of the flowers, my tears fast flow,—
I feel that in all this fair world below,
Its beauty, sunlight, joy, love are bereft me,
And nought but its bitter tears are left me.
They tell me that I no longer share
A part in life and its circle fair,
That I belong to death’s kingdom dreary,
Yes, I, a corpse unburied and weary.
How happy was I when erst I saw
The dance of rats at the Opera!
But now I hear the odious scuffling
Of churchyard rats and grave-moles shuffling.
The scent of the flowers recalls again
A perfect ballet, a joyous train
Of recollections perfumed and glowing,
From the hidden depths of the past o’erflowing,
To sound of cornet and castanet,
In spangled dresses (full short, I regret),—
Yet all their toying, each laugh, each titter,
Can only render my thoughts more bitter.
Away with the flowers! O, how I abhor
The scent that maliciously tells once more
Of days long vanish’d and hours of gladness—
I weep at the thought with speechless sadness.