From silent night, true register of moans;
From saddest soul, consumed; with sins
With deepest sins
From heart quite rent, with sighs and heavy groans
My wailing Muse her work, begins
Her work begins
And to the world brings tunes of sad despire,
Sounding naught else but sorrow, grief and care.
From saddest soul, consumed; with sins
With deepest sins
From heart quite rent, with sighs and heavy groans
My wailing Muse her work, begins
Her work begins
And to the world brings tunes of sad despire,
Sounding naught else but sorrow, grief and care.