Convalescente Di Squisiti Mali My Spirit Like A Shepherd Boy Goes Dancing Down The Lane. When All The World Is Young With Joy Must I Lie Here In Pain? With Shepherd'S Pipe My Spirit Fled And Cloven Foot Of Pan; The Mortal Bondage He Has Shed And Shackling Yoke Of Man. And Though He Leave Me Cold And Mute, A Traitor To His Care, I Smile To Hear His Honeyed Flute Hang On The Scented Air.