I.
AH, why my love that pensive air?
Why dost thou droop with secret care?
Big tears fall silent from thy eyes,
Thy bosom heaves with frequent sighs;
And from that dear, that much-lov’d face
Is banish’d every smiling grace.
II.
These cares, these griefs, should all be mine,
Didst thou for greater ills repine;
But tho’ we feel the storms of fate,
Tho’ various woes around us wait,
Yet love is ours, the smiling pow’r
Can fortune’s fiercest rage endure.
III.
In me he reigns without controul,
Possesses all, and fills my soul.
In my fond breast no wishes rise,
But those the charming God supplies;
What can my hope, or envy move,
Who seek no other wealth but love?