Gak darmo prsy hozj

How vainly, vainly burns my breast.
It burns an unextinguish'd fire;
And what can still desire to rest?
What stop the ragings of desire?

Can love, can burning love be quell'd
By love's reciprocal return?
Alas! the fires my bosom held,
Still raging in that bosom burn.

Where thorns around the rose-stem grew
There pour'd I forth my plaints forlorn;
Where my desire to sadness flew,
There did the rose-stem feed the thorn.

Yes! where desire to sadness fled,
It was my only lot to sigh,
Where thorns were by the roses red,
There did my plaints ascend on high.

Alas! to sigh — to sigh — to sigh,
Is sweetness to a sadden'd breast:
Has love no consolation nigh —
Its sighs — and will they bring it rest?

And will they lull the soul from pain,
And sorrow's wild rebellions lull —
To sigh, and sigh, and sigh again,
Is sweetness to a sadden'd soul.