歌词
A small room
Whitewashed and clean
Bare of furniture
In one corner, near a small fire
Sat an old man
His head on his hands
A young girl sat down beside
Taking up an instrument, he began to play
Sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale
Sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale
Of the thrush or the nightingale
A sweet mournful air
Drew tears from the eyes of his companion
He raised her with such kindness and affection
Sensations: a mixture of pain and pleasure
Such as I had never before experienced
I withdrew from the window
Unable to bear these emotions
Written by: Timothy C. Takach
