歌词
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheek down flows
Nor sine the silver moon so bright! through the transparent bosom of the deep
As doth thy face through tears if mine give light, thou shinest in every tear that i do weep
No drop but as a coach, doth carry thee
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe do but behold the tears that swell in me
And they thy glory through my grief will show
But do not love thyself; then thou will keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep
O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel no thought can think, nor tounge of mortal
Written by: Michael Friedman
