And bolder now and bolder I lean upon that shoulder, So dear He is and near.
And with His aureole The tresses of my soul Are blent In wished content.
Yea, this too gentle Lover Hath flattering words to move her To pride By His sweet side.
Ah, Love! somewhat let be! Lest my humility Grow weak When Thou dost speak!
Rebate Thy tender suit, Lest to herself impute Some worth Thy bride of earth!
A maid too easily Conceits herself to be Those things Her lover sings;
And being straitly wooed, Believes herself the Good And Fair He seeks in her.
Turn something of Thy look, And fear me with rebuke, That I May timorously
Take tremors in Thy arms, And with contrivèd charms Allure A love unsure.
Not to me, not to me, Builded so flawfully, O God, Thy humbling laud!