On the Death of My Wife
Now you are gone
and your lovely face has faded
what shall I do with your rosy cheeks
which live in my heart, but jaded.
What shall I do with your deep dark eyes
in which I drowned one day,
and your beauteous ebon hair
where moonbeams used to play.
Now you are gone
and I am in this field standing by a lonely sycamore
I’ll think of you, and you will come to me
my one true love, ma chérie d'amour.
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