Many a path, sombrely held with ever-deep regret,
Hand in hand, guides to a fair gentle maid I met:
As Frost, breathe dreams over chilly autumn evening,
When Moon hornéd beams lay fondly deceiving
Wounds of dry blood, on silent Nights shrouded sky,
And pours forth a stream of crimson coloured dye
Dazzling thy gaze, upon heavens splendour bright,
Caressing thy heart with her tender excess of light.
May great Apollo, from his rested car now bring
Aloud thy voice, tiptoed aloft, perching softly to sing,
Of sweet kisses, with laurel, to be placed on your brow,
Mingling dewy moist lips to inspire ever what I feel now.
Flame! In hearts grand chamber, waft within thy breast
A rekindled fire, in which dove wings burn loves chest.