I thy servant-love would be.”
“Hence, begone, ungracious traitor,
Base deceiver, hence from me!
I nor rest upon green branches,
Nor amidst the meadow’s flowers;
The very wave my thirst that quenches
Seek I where it turbid pours.
No wedded love my soul shall know,
Lest children’s hearts my heart should win;
No pleasure would I seek for, no!