O sorrowed widow sinked in lones

curatious mother of thy orphs

of bleeding tears fulfilling homes

with pains and sorrows and thy corps!

O mother feeding sons of pride

o golden mother whole inside!

You are sweet - of all the sweetest gloom

thar are bewarmed by sunning shines

you are fair as silver virgin moon

for getting crowned in royal lines.

But crown is made of smarting thorn

and son - your son - for slave was born!

Beeviled world is just depriming

depriming thy within the timing!

When will the sorrow get away?

When will the eye abwish of tearing?

When will your cloth encolor cheering

and when thy sun will sent a ray?

With power, fortune and resounding

without the crown been teared of shy

the head would be of holy bounding

and i would love you more than my

and i would sing from ground to sky!

But as nobody's liking you

and whole world takes thy miser down

my heaert is thy a brightening dawn;

my heart is fair and lovely dawn

my loving - of tears of thy in making down.

O mother , dearest of the moth

my cure and pain and mem' of youths

my love, my star in different pots!

God! Put in mercy thy, oh fairly mum

God save, save thy from the drum!

orfej