Lii

My pillow was of sorrow made My sleep were tears, free flowing; Go easy, my heart--not so loud: Deep penitence I’m showing.

The moon comes by the window in, Gown’d in her deathly pallor, And in the heart a song died down As of a bird, sad caller.

Dear moon, light up the stars on high; Let dew descend on flowers; Awake from sleep the nightingale, But men--let sleep their hours!

You carry off the gorgeous love-- You know the calamity; I am now but a wretched man-- Ah, pity, pity, pity!