Well, I've probably totally muddled this as it is, as Thomas says, a poem and German isn't my first language so that's a double-handicap. Nevertheless, I think I got part of it, maybe enough to give a sense of it at least and perhaps someone else could do a better job? There are just words that I can't decipher due to not understanding the grammar (difficult even in non-poem form) or dialect/colloquialisms. Anyway:
Memory
A lock stands far off in machtigen Waldersraumen, from the noise of the world;
Between floral (?) gardens and shady trees it is appropriately peaceful and quiet under blue sky.
The smell and roses and birds and Voglein twitter Spring songs.
The Air blows quietly and on green lawn with shrubs and hedges plays carelessly, cheerfully and in glad, hiding places - a Duke with his beloved child.
They hurry and running up and down, stop themselves and leave themselves again;
They jauchzen and jubelin, call them and sing, embracing kiss-end themselves when frohlichen jumping.
the autumn uber country came and Schloss pulled, it streunte yellow Blatter all around.
The merry Sanger was is enough already flown away, and also in the garden ward it lonely, quietly and empty. -
there the dull tone of the country of the bell hammer and awakens in the whole people pain and misery.
By forest and corridors steicht herbstlich the wind, and under painful crying and complaining a small coffin is carried quietly to the Gruft. Drinn ' lieght the Duke’s holdseliges child. - humans pray:
O! Gentleman and master, can you give our Duke’s daughter more time?
They ask and cry in the hopeless struggle, the Duke want for pain nearly the heart to shatter.
The child sleeps the eternal sleep of the fair one, its innocent heart she went to everlasting rest' and remained protected serious ensuring and fencing. - one bedecks the grave with flowers.
Went there from this cold ground, into light Hoh'n a new become deeply felt. - -
nevertheless in the evening, if those aufgegaugen star are, if to ground themselves dark shade bend, see one at the grave a picture so intimately own -
there the Duke stands - he speaks with his child. And on the grave fall'n its he puts white Flieder to tranen down and to the roses. -
by withered Blatter quiet blowing it ziecht raunt and rushing ELT - flustert: ' good-bye! "-
Hermann Boning