Every youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
⁠Every maiden sighs to win man's love;
Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
⁠From the noblest passion that we prove?

Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lovest him well,
⁠From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit sighs from out its cell:
⁠Be a man, nor seek to follow me.

Tender thoughts and sweet recollection,
That is life in its greatest perfection.