Since my dear love has chosen to dwell with thee:

Pity, not hate, is thine, well understood.

Lo! I do so desire to see thy face

That I am like as one who nears the tomb;

My soul entreats thee, Come.’

Then I departed, having made my moan;

And when I was alone

I said, and cast my eyes to the High Place:

‘Blessed is he, fair soul, who meets thy glance!’

... Just then you woke me, of your complaisaùnce.”