Und wüßten's die Blumen, die kleinen

And if the little flowers could see

How pierced my heart with grief,

Then surely they would weep with me

To bring my pain relief.

And if the nightingales could tell

How sick I am, and sad,

Their merry songs would fill the vale,

To make my heart more glad.

And if the golden stars on high

My sorrows could but guess,

They would come down from out the sky,

To comfort my distress.

Yet none of these can ever know;

One knows, but only one.

Herself she pierced my heart -- and so

She knows, and she alone.