I’m not of His darlings, nor in His service.
How should I not be, in my soul, black as night?
Deprived of His look, sweetness, warmth, and mild light.
All his disagreements are pleasant to me.
My life I’d give up, sacrifice I would be.
I love all my anguish; I dote on my pain,
So long as it pleases my heart’s treasured swain.235
My sorrow’s my eyes’ choicest collyrium;
My tears are as pearls from deep-sea tedium.
Tears poured forth by lovers at His adored feet,