O del mio amato ben perduto incanto!
Lungi è dagli occhi miei
chi m'era gloria e vanto!       
Or per le mute stanze
sempre lo [cerco e]1 chiamo                        
con pieno il cor di speranze?
Ma cerco invan, chiamo invan!
E il pianger m'è sì caro,
che di pianto sol nutro il cor.

Mi sembra, senza lui2, triste ogni loco.
Notte mi sembra il giorno;
mi sembra gelo il foco.
Se pur talvolta spero
di darmi ad altra cura,
sol mi tormenta un pensiero:
Ma, senza lui, che farò?
Mi par così la vita vana cosa
senza il mio ben.

View original text (without footnotes)
¹ Garrett: "cerco, sempre lo"
² Male singers sometimes change this to "lei" so that the subject of the song is female rather than male.

Text Authorship:

• by Alberto Donaudy (1880 - 1941) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

• by Stefano Donaudy (1879 - 1925), "O del mio amato ben", published <<1918, from 36 Arie di Stile Antico, no. 18. [
   text verified 1 time
  ]
• by Marques L. A. Garrett (b. 1984), "O del mio amato ben", 2013 [voice and piano], from A Love Cycle: Songs of Happiness, Heartbreak, Hope, and Healing, no. 2. [
   text verified 1 time
  ]

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):

• ENG English (Donna Bareket) , title 1: "Oh, lost enchantment of my dearly beloved", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
• SPA Spanish (Español) (Juan Henríquez Concepción) , title 1: "Ay de mi bien amado", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Researcher for this page: Donna (Bareket) Breitzer

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 18
Word count: 101

 Oh, lost enchantment of my dearly beloved!
 Far from my eyes is he
 who was, to me, glory and pride!        
 Now through the empty rooms
 I always seek him and call him                  
 with a heart full of hopes?
 But I seek in vain, I call in vain!
 And the weeping is so dear to me,
 that with weeping alone I nourish my heart.
 
 It seems to me, without him, sad everywhere.
 The day seems like night to me;
 the fire seems cold to me.
 If, however, I sometimes hope
 to give myself to another cure,
 one thought alone torments me:
 But without him, what shall I do?
 To me, life seems a vain thing
 without my beloved.