Classic Poem

My sange es in sihting,
My life es in langinge,
Till I thee se, my king,
So faire in thy shining,
So faire in thy fairehede.
Intil thy light me lede,
And in thy luve me fede.
In luve make me to spede,
That thou be ever my mede.
When will thou come,
Jesus, my joy,
And cover me of care,
And give me thee,
That I may se,
And have for evermare?
All my coveiting war comen
If I might till thee fare.
I will na thing bot anely thee
That all my will ware.
Jesu, my savioure,
Jesu, my comfortoure,
Of all my fairness flowre,
My helpe in my socoure,
When may I see thy towre?
When will thou me call?
Me langes to thy hall,
To se thee than all.
Thy luve lat it not fall.
My hert paintes the pall
That steds us in stall.
Now wax I pale and wan
For luve of my lemman.
Jesu, bath God and man,
Thy luve thou lerd me than
When I to thee fast ran;
Forthy now I luve can.
I sitt and sing of luve-langing
That in my breste es bredde.
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu,
When war I to thee ledde?
Full wele I wate
Thou sees my state:
In luve my thoght es stedde.
When I thee se
And dwell with thee
Than am I filde and fedde.
Jesu, thy luve es fest
And me to luve think best.
My hert, when may it brest
To come to thee, my rest?
Jesu, Jesu, Jesu,
Till thee it es that I morne,
For my life and my living.
When may I hethen torne?
Jesu, my dere and my drewry,
Delite ert thou to singe.
Jesu, my mirth and melody,
When will thou com, my king?
Jesu, my hele and my hony,
My quart and my comforting.
Jesu, I coveite for to dy
When it es thy paying.
Langing es in me lent
That my luve hase me sent:
All wa es fra me went
Sen that my hert es brent,
In Christe luve so swete,
That never I will lete,
Bot ever to luve I hete,
For luve my bale may bete,
and till his blis me bring,
And give me my yerning.
Jesu, my luve, my sweting,
Langing es in me light,
That bindes me day and night,
Till I it have in sight,
His face, so faire and bright.
Jesu, my hope, my hele,
My joy ever ilk a dele,
Thy luve, lat it noght kele,
That I thy luve may fele
And won with thee in wele.
Jesu, with thee I big and belde.
Lever me war to dy
Than all this worlde to welde,
And have it in maistry.
When will thou rew on me,
Jesu, that I might with thee be,
To luve and lok on thee?
My settle ordaine for me,
And set thou me tharin,
For then mon we never twin,
And I thy luve shall sing,
Thorow sight of thy shining,
In Heven withouten ending.