He who thinks a perfect melody,
Lives, for that time in harmony,
Walks for that time in liberty,
Loves for that time in purity.

God has raised his whip of Hell
That you be no longer weak.
Because of anguish shall you speak,
Because of anguish, shall you speak well.

Not for an hour shall your dear thought escape me.
I keep it fast to cheer, to guide, to shape me.
As an old pilot held in sight a star,
As a wrecked man clings frantic to a spar,
So I maintain your love in memory,
My hope of haven, my security.

It must be true I love you well
Since your light words are whips of Hell.
But who has pain has songs to sell.
My profitable Friends, farewell!

Pan neighb'ring Eccho lov'd; Eccho desir'd
Brisk Satyrus, Satyrus Lyda fir'd;
As Eccho Pan, Sa'trus did Eccho wound,
And Lyda Satyrus , so love went round:
As each did scorn for others love return,
So justice paid their love with others scorn;
Mark this disdainful Lover; would'st thou be
Belov'd of those thou lov'st? love who love thee.

To-night
For the last time,
I loose my hair to make a tent about you.
Come, lay your head on my knees
Your eyes are the lights of a town,
And my body is a sheltering hill.
Now my hair is a cloud,
To hide you from the inquisitive stars.

Friend sparrows, don't eat those horse-flies,
Which suck the nectar of flowers.

My man is like a good steel blade,
As subtle, strong, and finely made,
His power blue-white
As steely light.
O, he is cruel-quick enough!
But to my touch, as pleasant as fine stuff,
And from a wound of him I'd die,
Happy at such keen mastery.

Now by your love am I restored,
But ask me not for love's reward.
I am full of love as is a cloud
Pregnant with thunders long and loud.
I tremble, for in this wild sky
Are lightnings, by which man may die!

When I am near you, I am like a child,
I'm still and simple, I am undefiled.
I speak my love in a forgotten tongue,
And use the words I knew when I was young.
My Love! You have restored me in a hundred ways,
You gave me back my happy childish days.