The scarlet poppy thought to tempt and lure the wandering nightingale,
When he was dreaming of the rose tied round with wisps of basil pale.
None pitied him—the rose was plucked by those who first came to the vale.
Alas, poor nightingale, the hedge has caught and pierced thy body frail!
God knows my life I count but nought; for thee I’d give it joyfully.
Come, let us taste of love’s delights, let him that listeth envious be.
No wish of thine shall be refused, so but thy face I radiant see.
If immortality thou’dst have, my love shall e’en bring that to thee.
And if I had a thousand woes no murmur from my lips would rise:
Thou art my Ruler, none beside; no sovereign own I otherwise.