He ruled in beauty o'er this heart of mine,

A noble lord in a humble home,

And soon his time for heavenly bliss will come,

'Tis I am mortal proved, and he divine.

The soul that all its blessings must resign,

And love whose light no more on earth finds room,

Might rend the rocks with pity for their doom,

Yet none their sorrows can in words enshrine;

They weep within my heart; and ears are deaf

Save mine alone, and I am crushed with care,

And naught remains to me save mournful breath.

Assuredly but dust and shade we are,

Assuredly desire is blind and brief,

Assuredly its hope but ends in death.