Sospiri

Since I am coming to that holy room
Where with the choir of saints forever more
I shall be made the music as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door
While my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers and by their map I lie
Flat on this bed that by them they be shown
My final breath and last remaining sigh
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri
Sospiri