The Dawn of Day

Whene'er the break of day draws nigh,
I dare not ask the question, "Is it day?"
This comes from grief so great that I
Can win no help against its cruel sway.
I often think, I lived not in this way
Of old ere yet so heavy on my heart sorrow lay.
Then ever in the morning the birds would make me glad with song.
If she aid me not full soon,
Winter and summer both to me are overlong.

Happy the man who can relate
He left his love in yearning and in woe!
I must lament a different fate;
I ne'er saw woman's tears for my sake flow.
Tho' I were absent long, she ne'er did so.
Often my heart was wounded such sore distress to know.
Had I by any other so long been held of such small worth,
I'd have ceased to struggle on.
No comfort can I find for this on all the earth.

My lady hath her stock and store
So portioned that the loss falls to my share.
Thereof my heart hath taken more
Than should have come to it, had all been fair.
Yet never will I give this o'er, I swear,
Tho' on her side the tokens of answering love be rare.
She was ever merry, and let me bide in sorrow still:
So the time has passed and gone.
Ah, never dawns the day according to my will!