Alexander Petőfi: AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER

 

The garden flowers still blossom in the vale,

Before our house the poplars still are green;

But soon the mighty winter will prevail;

Snow is already on the mountain senn.

The summer sun's benign and warming ray

Still moves my youthful heart, now in its spring;

But lo! my hair shows signs of turning gray,

The wintry days thereto their colors bring.

This life is short; too early fades the rose;

To sit here on my knee, my darling, come;

Wilt thou who on my breast dost now repose,

Not kneel, perhaps, to-morrow o'er my tomb?

O! tell me, if before thee I should die,

Wilt thou, with broken heart, weep o'er my bier,

Or will some youth efface my memory,

And with his love soon dry the mournful tear?

If thou dost lay aside the widow's veil,

Pray hang it o'er my tomb. At midnight I

Shall rise, and, coming forth from death's dark vale

Take it with me to where, forgot, I lie,

And stanch with it my ceaseless flowing tears,

Flowing for thee who hast forgotten me,

And bind my bleeding heart, which ever bears,

Even then and there, the truest love for thee.

 

(William N.Loew)