The Vision

As a little child, that catches sight
Of its pretty face within a glass shown plain,
Grasps at its own image in delight,
Till at last it breaks the mirror, 'tis so fain;
Then its joy turns all to grief and bitter pain,—
When my love I saw, such was my plight.
Then I thought my bliss could ne'er take flight;
Yet much grief, no less than joy, from her I gain.

Love, by whom the world is ever blest,
Lo you, brought my lady to me in a dream,
When by sleep my body was possessed.
Thereupon I saw a sight of joy supreme,—
Saw her, o'er all women held in high esteem,
Fairest of them all and worthiest,
Save that her sweet mouth did manifest
Grief... and had been hurt, as it would seem.

With great fear my heart is pierced through,
That her mouth may now grow pale, that was so red,
And for sorrow I lament anew
(Ever since my heart was filled with such a dread)
Such a grievous vision to mine eyes was sped;
As a fond and foolish youth might do,
Who his shadow in a stream doth view
And must fall in love with it till he be dead.

Nobler ladies and of higher heart
Heaven containeth not from pole to pole.
I am ever with her, tho' apart
I must bide far from her to my bitter dole.
Out, alas! I thought that I had reached the goal
And in her sweet love had gained a part.
Now I see I am scarcely at the start:
Wherefore all my hopes are fled and bliss of soul.