The days of roses are vanished

Days of roses, ye are vanished.

Go, love, thou art free;

The gold thread love wove for me

In the past, 'tis banished.

And I left him, on I hurried,

Sought fresh gold to spin;

Yet no happiness I win,

With my past 'tis buried.

Roses bloom as fair as ever,

But my joy is o'er;

Come again, love, I implore.

Ah! he cometh never!