We walked hand in hand

We walked hand in hand,

our eyes spoke what we felt;

upon our faces there struggled

confusion and yearning.

The God of Love following step by step,

she sighed quietly, I sighed with her,

and nightingales were singing.

Now she wanted a sprig for her bosom

of forget-me-nots and violets.

I bent down, and pressed

into her hand the flowers I had picked.

Embarrassed, she pulled her hand back

and blushingly I asked, do you love me?

She was silent, grew red, and nodded.