Ach, ach, now I’m trying
My loss to forget—
With sorrow and sighing,
With anger and fret.
But still that sweet image
Steals over my heart;
And still I deem fondly
Hope need not depart.
So fancy beguiles me,
Ach, ach, now I’m trying
My loss to forget—
With sorrow and sighing,
With anger and fret.
But still that sweet image
Steals over my heart;
And still I deem fondly
Hope need not depart.
So fancy beguiles me,