In sleepless nights my sad forgotten lute br Breathes with low strains of broken melody, br Under my touch long, long had it been mute, br But now it sings of its own fantasy. br Thou hadst a spirit then that was not mine, br Whence came it, Lute—by whom was't to thee given? br I knew not that an adverse will of thine br Against my will to make thee sing, had striven.