Mine eyes impatient yearn;
For thy choicest gem is bride of mine,
And she longs for my return.
They took me from the galley bench;
A gardener's slave they set me here,
That I might tend the fruit and flowers
Through all the changes of the year;
Wise choice, indeed, they made of me!
For when the drought has parched the field,
The clouds that overcast my heart