O, my lady, have you not seen One
Who laid his hand on my heart, when
I answered you so softly, tamely,
Because I feared his blows?
He was Love, that one who found us,
Come from far, but standing by me,
In a Syrian bowman’s likeness,
Solely set to conquer others.

Drawing sighs from out your eyes,
He fired them deep into my heart,
So I was forced to flee in terror,
Till swiftly Death revealed himself
Surrounded by those sufferings
Which drown all men with sorrow.