Louise, have you forgotten yet
The corner of the flowery land,
The ancient garden where we met,
My hand that trembled in your hand?
Our lips found words scarce sweet enough,
As low beneath the willow-trees
We sat; have you forgotten, love?
Do you remember, love Louise?
Marie, have you forgotten yet
The loving barter that we made?
The rings we changed, the suns that set,
The woods fulfilled with sun and shade?
The fountains that were musical
By many an ancient trysting tree —
Marie, have you forgotten all?
Do you remember, love Marie?
Christine, do you remember yet
Your room with scents and roses gay?
My garret — near the sky ’twas set —
The April hours, the nights of May?
The clear calm nights — the stars above
That whispered they were fairest seen
Through no cloud-veil? Remember, love!
Do you remember, love Christine?
Louise is dead, and, well-a-day!
Marie a sadder path has ta’en;
And pale Christine has passed away
In southern suns to bloom again.
Alas! for one and all of us —
Marie, Louise, Christine forget;
Our bower of love is ruinous,
And I alone remember yet.
trans. Andrew Lang, 1872