My breast I'll set upon a silver stream, and swim unto Elysium's lily fields: There in Ambrosian trees, I'll write a theme, Of all the woeful sighs my sorrow yields. A heavy, sad and swanlike song sing I, To ease my heart awhile before I die.
My breast I'll set upon a silver stream, and swim unto Elysium's lily fields: There in Ambrosian trees, I'll write a theme, Of all the woeful sighs my sorrow yields. A heavy, sad and swanlike song sing I, To ease my heart awhile before I die.