Insensibility
They tell me that the day is fair,
With blossoms springing everywhere;
I do not know, I cannot say,
For thou, my love, art far away.
They tell me that the birds sing sweet,
That brooklets ripple at my feet;
I do not know, I cannot hear,
For thou, my love, art nowhere near.
They tell me that the sky is blue,
The hills take on a purple hue;
I do not know, I cannot see,
For thou, my love, art not with me.