Two hearts beat in one.
Fine as gossamer,
Vast as the waves,
Inconstant as the moon,
Frail as a flower,
This strange thing we call love,
What a prolific source of sorrows it is!
The wind tears a leaf from the willow tree;
it falls lightly upon the water,
and the waves carry it away.
Time has gradually effaced a memory from my heart,
and I watch the willow leaf drifting away on the waves;
since I have forgotten her
whom I loved,
I dream the day through in sadness,
lying at the water’s edge.
But the willow leaf floated back
under the tree,
and it seemed to me
that the memory could never be effaced
from my heart.
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