To grant thee peace, to Hell I would descend.
Though in my heart no bold desires I nest,
Do know that I would be thy health and rest.
But still these doubts of mine may never end:
Art thou my love or maybe just a friend?
And when thy hand lies gently in my palm,
My mind grows quiet, and my soul is calm;
Meseems my life may in this sleep depart,
But wakes me up the beating of thy heart,
And thus return my doubts that know no end: