The roses were already blooming,
the winter was growing pale
and I went away.
That day I remember that
I still loved you
but I left you.
At first you no longer knew
whether to live or die
but, after a while,
you returned to live again
because no one is an angel
such as you are.
Our house is small
but you kept it in order
just for me.
You lived alone and sad but
had hope
inside of you.
And the months now passed
and you turned pale
more and more
until that bright day
you found a letter
written by me.
"Love, I miss you
but I will not return.
Love, I miss you,
wait if you wish."
One day in December now—
at this point you no longer thought of me.
When I returned.
I saw you near the tree
and you smiled right away
upon seeing me.
One word was enough that
you would have returned
to my arms
but the morning after
I told you this and then—
then I went away.
"I miss you love
but I will not return.
I miss you love,
wait for me no longer."
The roses were already blooming,
the winter was growing pale
and I went away.
The swallows told me that
in that little house
you are no longer there.
And it is I who no longer know
whether to live or die
without you.
One word was enough that
you would have returned
to my arms.
And it is I who no longer know
whether to live or die
without you.
The roses are dead now,
love, my love,
I will miss you.