From the Portugese
Germaine Tailleferre
In moments to delight devoted
«My life» with tenderest tone you cry;
Dear words! on which my heart had doted,
If Youth could neither fade or die.
To Death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
Or change «my Life» into «my Soul»
Which, like my Love, exists for ever.