Would that my pen were tipped with a magic wand
That I could but tell of my love for you
That I could but write with the surge I feel
When I gaze upon your sweet, sweet face
Would that my throat were blessed by the nightingale
That I could but sing of my heart's great love
In some lovely tree flooded with silver
Sing 'til I burst my breast with such passion
Sing, then fall dead to lay at your feet