And if the blooms - the small ones - knew

And if the blooms - the small ones - knew

How deeply wounded is my heart,

They would weep with me

To heal my pain.

And if the nightingales knew

How sad and ill I am,

They would let forth merrily

A refreshing song.

And if they knew my woe -

The little golden stars -

They would come down from their heights

And speak their consolation to me.

But all of them could not know this,

Only one knows my pain;

She herself has indeed torn,

Torn my heart in two.