Come soon
Brahms, Johannes
Why, then, wait from day to day?
The garden blooms when it wants to bloom.
Who comes to count everything that blooms so fair?
No pair of eyes would be able to see everything.
My own eyes wander from bush to tree;
it seems to me that others would think it a dream.
And of those lovers, who are true to me
and love me, I wish you were among them!