Classic Poem

O Love, my love, and perfect bliss!
God in his goodness grant me this—
I see thee soon again.
Nought else I need to take away
The grief that for thy sake alway
Doth keep me in great pain.

Alas, I know not what to do,
Nor how to get good news and true:
Dear God, I pray to Thee;
If else Thou canst not comfort me,
Of Thy great mercy make that he
Send speedy news to me.

Within my father's garden alls
There is a tree—when April falls
It blossometh alway.
There wend I oft in winter drear,
Yes, and in spring, the winds to hear,
The sweet winds at their play.