Lyrics
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, Who knows!
Who knows!
Ah! Love! could you and I with Fath conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits, and then,
Remould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, Who knows!
Who knows!