My love for you is not an ardent thing
And I can take or leave your beautys lustre
In you I love past sufferings memories muster
The misspent youth to which Id like to cling.

And when betimes I look upon your face
On delving eyes in my preoccupation
Im having then a secret conversation
For you are not my words of passions chase.

Im talking to a love of younger days
And in your face Im others features seeking
The lips of one whos long since finished speaking
In eyes extinguished flame of others gaze.

1841

translation by Rupert Moreton