How have I sinned that thou shouldst thus offended be, Light of my Eyes?
The world is sated with the world,—I starve for thee, Light of my Eyes.
A sea of blood is in my heart, and tears forever fill my eyes;
No salve can heal my wound, the cure in my beloved’s presence lies.
All sick of love I lay, and watched her pathway with my longing eyes;
When I was dead she came; ’twas but the layer-out who heard her sighs.
Fair springtime now is fully here, the meadows gay with leaf and flower;
The hill-sides strewn with violets, the nightingale sent to the bower.
But why cannot his voice be heard? O thorn-tree, whence thy cruel power?
Thy branches pierced his heart; the rose was mourning left within her tower.