Let me gaze with dreamy eyes

On love, which never comes to those who long

But look with scepticism

On the illusions of those other fools,

And yet long with all their heart.


Those who have it, waste it to easily

Because they don’t understand what we do,

We who are looking for love’s charms everywhere;

Because they’re to sure that they know what it means,

They make an icon of love, a cliché.


They strive for a concept they set in Her place

And therefore they must fail.

We don’t believe in Her, but we search

For the true ideal of our heart,

Which just may be a thing like love —

But are we not also bound to fail in the end?