Come Le Rose

The roses have bloomed again
and the sweet caresses of the sun.
The butterflies chase each other joyfully
in the blue with trembling flight.

But the roses are no longer the same
that bloomed one day for you.
These roses are perhaps more beautiful
but they have no scent for me.

But your gentle voice
no longer delights my heart.
Like the roses of April
the joys of love are dead to me.

These roses kissed by the sun
in the silence of golden evenings
did not hear the sweet words
that your heart said to mine.

Those roses no longer have life
like the dreams of my youth.
Every faded rose is a memory.
Those roses no longer speak.

Like the roses of April
The joys of love are dead to me.