Dal Dolcie Pianto. From Happy Tears To Woeful Smiles, From Peace Eternal To A Brief And Hollow Truce, How Have I Fallen!--When 'Tis Truth We Lose, Sense Triumphs O'Er All Adverse Impulses. I Know Not If My Heart Bred This Disease, That Still More Pleasing Grows With Growing Use; Or Else Thy Face, Thine Eyes, Which Stole The Hues And Fires Of Paradise--Less Fair Than These. Thy Beauty Is No Mortal Thing; 'Twas Sent From Heaven On High To Make Our Earth Divine: Wherefore, Though Wasting, Burning, I'm Content; For In Thy Sight What Could I Do But Pine? If God Himself Thus Rules My Destiny, Who, When I Die, Can Lay The Blame On Thee?