Fair nightingale

Fair nightingale, flitting as you will

from branch to branch of the willows, alone,

singing as I would that I could sing

She who must always be in my mouth.

We both sigh. Your sweet voice tries

to sound the love of one who loves you so,

and I sadly regret the beauty

who has so wounded my heart.

There is one difference between us, nightingale,

although we both have the same music.

You are loved, and I am not.

Your love yields before the sweet sounds you make,

but mine scorns my songs and covers her ears

so as not to hear them.