The rose-leaves are falling like rain

The rose-leaves are falling like rain,

The candle-flame dips to the air,

And my two eyes possess thee there,

Yet the tears they can scarce restrain.

Ancient clay, refashioned to pain,

What thirst of incurable ainguish

Must torture thus our hearts that languish!

The rose-leaves are falling like rain.

The flow'rs are dying all!

Ah, dearest, I do not speak, and yet thou hearest,

And under thy motionless hair

Thy love is dull, I tire of loving:

What can it be, dear one, o'er us two,

This wing that in silence is moving?

The rose-leaves are falling like rain.