Erewhile to my desire so sweet were tears
    Their tenderness refined my else rude song,
    And made me wake and watch the livelong nights;
    But sorrow now to me is worse than death,
    Since lost for aye that look of modest joy,
    The lofty subject of my lowly rhyme!

    Love in those bright eyes to my ready rhyme
    Gave a fair theme, now changed, alas! to tears;
    With grief remembering that time of joy,
    My changed thoughts issue find in other song,
    Evermore thee beseeching, pallid Death,
    To snatch and save me from these painful nights!

    Sleep has departed from my anguish’d nights,
    Music is absent from my rugged rhyme,
    Which knows not now to sound of aught but death;
    Its notes, so thrilling once, all turn’d to tears,
    Love knows not in his reign such varied song,
    As full of sadness now as then of joy!

    Man lived not then so crown’d as I with joy,
    Man lives not now such wretched days and nights;
    And my full festering grief but swells the song
    Which from my bosom draws the mournful rhyme;
    I lived in hope, who now live but in tears,
    Nor against death have other hope save death!

    Me Death in her has kill’d; and only Death
    Can to my sight restore that face of joy,
    Which pleasant made to me e’en sighs and tears,
    Balmy the air, and dewy soft the nights,
    Wherein my choicest thoughts I gave to rhyme
    While Love inspirited my feeble song!

    Would that such power as erst graced Orpheus’ song
    Were mine to win my Laura back from death,
    As he Eurydice without a rhyme;
    Then would I live in best excess of joy;
    Or, that denied me, soon may some sad night
    Close for me ever these twin founts of tears!

    Love!  I have told with late and early tears,
    My grievous injuries in doleful song;
    Not that I hope from thee less cruel nights;
    And therefore am I urged to pray for death,
    Which hence would take me but to crown with joy,
    Where lives she whom I sing in this sad rhyme!

    If so high may aspire my weary rhyme,
    To her now shelter’d safe from rage and tears,
    Whose beauties fill e’en heaven with livelier joy,
    Well would she recognise my alter’d song,
    Which haply pleased her once, ere yet by death
    Her days were cloudless made and dark my nights!

    O ye, who fondly sigh for better nights,
    Who listen to love’s will, or sing in rhyme,
    Pray that for me be no delay in death,
    The port of misery, the goal of tears,
    But let him change for me his ancient song,
    Since what makes others sad fills me with joy!

    Ay! for such joy, in one or in few nights,
    I pray in rude song and in anguish’d rhyme,
    That soon my tears may ended be in death!