O thou so long unheeded, loved so late!
Let me pour forth the ointment of my soul,
The precious store wherewith thou fill’st my vase,
My love’s devotion and my sorrow’s grace;
Withholding naught from thee that givest all.
The more I give the richer grows my share,
Since unto thee one cannot give and lose.
Thou givest e’er; we but thy gifts diffuse.
Worthless all gold unless thy stamp it bear.
Worthless my tears unless their source be thee: