Bernstein: Candide, Act I: No. 7, Candide'S Lament

Cunegonde, Cunegonde
Cunegonde, is it true?
Is it you, so still and cold, love?
Could our young joys just begun
Not outlast the dying sun?
When such brightness dies so soon
Can the heart find strength to bear it?
Shall I ever be consoled, love?
No, I swear it by the light of this lover's moon
Though I must see tomorrow's dawn
My heart is gone where you are gone
Shall I ever be consoled, love?
No, I swear it by the light of this lover's moon
Goodbye, my love, my love, goodbye
Goodbye, my love, my love, goodbye
Cunegonde, Cunegonde