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