MAUDIT PRINTEMPS.(Béranger.)
I saw her through my window-pane
All Winter smiling at her own;
Unknown I loved, was loved again,
And kisses crossed that both had thrown.
Through the old lime-trees' branches gray,
Our sole delight, fond looks to turn;
But now between us leaves will play.
Why, hateful Spring, wilt thou return?
All Winter smiling at her own;
Unknown I loved, was loved again,
And kisses crossed that both had thrown.
Through the old lime-trees' branches gray,
Our sole delight, fond looks to turn;
But now between us leaves will play.
Why, hateful Spring, wilt thou return?
Ah! I shall lose her in their shade,
The lovely angel over there!
Who fed with crumbs,—dear, tender maid!—
Poor birds that felt the frosty air.
She calls them, and the cares she shows
To lovers' silent signals turn.
Ah! what so fair as Winter's snows!
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return?
The lovely angel over there!
Who fed with crumbs,—dear, tender maid!—
Poor birds that felt the frosty air.
She calls them, and the cares she shows
To lovers' silent signals turn.
Ah! what so fair as Winter's snows!
Why, hateful Spring, must thou return?
