Summer Craving for Love

Ah, no, if only You had pity,

cruel Fate, harsh Love,

for however things turn out,

this loving heart will be

equally faithful, whether in sorrow or joy.

You then, friendly plants,

breezes, streams, little birds,

be moved to pity my pains!

will you at least tell me where my Mistress is?

Little birds, tiny rills,

which, singing and murmuring,

give prices to my beloved,

tell me where She is.

For my wretched heart

can only find solace

in offering new pledges of my faith

to Her who is so cruel to me.

Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller - Die Erwartete, 1860