О, если б мог выразить в звуке

Oh, Good Wine, the song tell my Sorrow. This glass laid a spell in My heart. This draught of love Makes ill a Spirit, and Whispers of doubt my Dear part. My heart might find peace, my Beloved. Confession might heal its Lone ache. My heart might find peace, My beloved. Confession might heal Its lone ache. Until you, dear, might told All its secret, Your heart for my anguish Might break. Until you, Dear, might told all My secret, your heart For My Anguish Might Break