Nada word, I love to sing!
Thou art too tender For all the passions agitating me;
For all my bitterness thou art too delicate,
I cannot pour my red soul into thee.
O haunting melody! Thou art too slender, Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass;
For all my dark thoughts thou art too thin, The burden from my bosom will not pass
O tender word!
O melody so slim!
O tears of passion saturate with brine,
ye can not render
My hatred for the foe of me and mine.