Evening Songs, 1

Without any aim, forth I sallied,
And roam’d by the pond o’er the lea;
The charming flowers look’d pallid,
And spectre-like gazed upon me.

Upon me they gazed, and to chatter
And tell my dull tale I began;
They ask’d me, what was the matter
With me, poor sad-looking man.

The truth, I valiantly said it,
No love in the world can I find;
And as I have lost all my credit,
With want of cash ’tis combin’d.