Oh this tender care upon my heart
that so solenmly leads me to thee
though my hate does stand me apart
from all love for thee I may feel!.

But how deep may I say this care lies
that of thee all thought do I seem to have
and so I behold before me and find no cure
that my hate is to grow deeper as grows my love.

But heaven breathes and yet I'm cursed
to love the same love I hate the most
and so all sorrow in me is enlightened
and persuade my own love to dwell alone.

But how lovely it sounds to say I hate
for all love seems hate ressemble
and then I committe no crime in saying
with thee I may follow my end eternal!.

But now what end shalt I possess
if ends the love that I so protected?
and so I may wish from a god a desire:
a long life to shorten my hatred.

So kind thou wert that I loved thee so still
that I even ceased to act or believe,
that to another love would I ever compel
to love another who doesn't own your face.

But how agast I am to say what I cannot
for graciously thou delighted me
making me ashamed of being adored
and of a heart I always cherished most.

And yet, with joy I came so softly
like the wind that follows snow
that with thee so gently I'm dwelling
to suffer a love that is not my own.

And so, my tongue remains mute
for my love has ceased to act,
'cos loved I was but now so parched
with an endless wounded weak heart.

Oh Lord, my heart does weep,
when from my downcast eyes,
a tear falls like a sigh!-

And still, on my chest you find
as a leaf blown by the wind,
the sorrow I still exist.

'cos from me, what do I spur on?
so much that they grow faster
****** pity with ****** scorn.

And yet, I could never ask,
though in desdain and forlorn,
my soul be parched aside.

Oh and brief thing that eternal lasts,
it's dead in me such desire,
shaking, what do I wait from now?.

And Lord, though her love is folly
as painful, as a rose's thorn,
let it rest in me as a sweet lore