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Christina Rossetti, Song


Oh roses for the flush of youth,
And laurel for the perfect prime;
But pluck an ivy-branch for me,
Grown old before my time.

Oh violets for the grave of youth,
And bay for those dead in their prime;
Give me the withered leaves I chose
Before in the olden time.



Die Rose für das junge Blut.
Den Lorbeer hohen Lebensbahnen.
Mir aber Efeus dunkle Flut,
das Erbe meiner Ahnen.

Dem Veilchen, der zu früh entrückt.
Den Lorbeer, trübt Hochsommer Klagen.
Mir gelbe Blätter, früh gepflückt
in meinen Sonnentagen.


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