With violets

The violets I send to you

Will close their blue eyes on your breast;

I shall not be there, sweet, to see,

Yet do I know my flowers will rest

Within that chaste, white nest.

O little flowers, she'll welcome you

So tenderly, so warmly!

Go, I know where you will die tonight.

But you can never, never know

The bliss of dying so.

If you could speak!

Yet she will know

What made your faces wet,

Although I fain would follow you, and tell.

There, go and die, yet never know

To what a heav'n you go.