For in her is all my delight

And all that can save me.

I shake and burn and quiver

From love, awake and in swevyn,

Such fear I have she deliver

me not from pain,

Who know not how to ask her;

Who can not.

Two years, three years I seek

And though I fear to speak out,

Still she must know it.

If she won’t have me now, Death is my portion,

Would I had died that day

I came into her sway.

God! How softly this kills!

When her love look steals on me.

Killed me she has, I know not how it was,

For I would not look on a woman.

Joy I have none, if she make me not mad

Or set me quiet, or bid me chatter.

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