Lyrics

In the mournful vaults of fathomless gloom To which Fate has already banished me Where a bright, rosy beam never enters; Where, alone with Night, that sullen hostess I'm like a painter whom a mocking God Condemns to paint, alas! upon darkness; Where, a cook with a woeful appetite I boil and I eat my own heart; At times there shines, and lengthens, and broadens A specter made of grace and of splendor; By its dreamy, oriental manner When it attains its full stature I recognize my lovely visitor; It's She! dark and yet luminous