For thee I feel strange thoughts in me rebelling.
I little joy in any other's sight,
My heart is thine, thyself my chief delight.
But yet I see the more that I do love,
More smart I feel, more pain, more grief I prove.
Well! let Love rage, though he be angry ever,
I'll take my loss for gain, though I gain never.
Leonor, sweet Rose, all other flowers excelling,
For thee I feel strange thoughts in me rebelling.
And though to you I manifest my woes,