Happy who to himself confess

His passion dares without terror;

Happy who in fate uncertain

By modest hope is fondled;

Happy who by foggy moonbeams

Is led to midnight joyful

And with faithful key who gently

The door unlocks of his beloved.

But for me in sad my life

No joy there is of secret pleasure;

Hope’s early flower faded is

By struggle withered is life’s flower.

Youth away flies melancholy

And droop with me life’s roses;

But by Love tho’ long forgot

Forget Love’s tears I cannot.