I recently paged through an old book,
Within it lay a sprig of lilac,
Pressed and yellowed and completely dried,
And yet I recognized it.

Down there at the garden fence
There I placed my arm around her waist,
There we exchanged blissful kisses,
There beneath the scented lilac.

And the last time I saw her
She broke the little sprig of lilac
And from the distance still she called to me,
Tomorrow, you, we shall see each other again.

I hold the dry blossom in my hand,
Quietly the tears roll down.
My fortune that I once found to be so full of joy
Pales like this sprig of lilac.