1. If my voice, alas, comes not back again,
That voice into pieces now quite slain,

2. O nightingale that sang! Thy song that rang
So sweet, alas! now broken all and vain.

3. This sickness on my throat did sorely press,
No cure, alas! could give my pain redress.

4. Can he sweet days recall when softly flowed
My speech that joy into men's hearts could rain?