Desideria

An anxious sorrow in my heart I bear,
For the dear friends whom I have left behind,—
If they perchance think fondly on me there
As here I have thought on them with steadfast mind.
By Heaven, she ought to show herself more kind,
Since I have always made it my first care
That nought of falsehood in me she should find.

Now should ye deem my sorrow at an end,
Ye wot not all that on my heart doth weigh.
A grief there is that none on earth may mend,
Save her fair self will do it, as well she may.
Alas, my griefs will never pass away,
Unless she deign her messenger to send,
Whom I have looked for now this many a day.

Albeit death were close upon my back
And many a bitter hardship in his train,
My lady I would ne'er consent to lack,
Though hard upon my back I saw death plain.
Where many a man confessed his sins in pain,
'Twas this that set me most upon the rack,—
That favour from her I could never gain.