Thought that once fed the grieving heart was sweet,
Thought that oft fled up to your Father's feet.

There it beheld a Lady glorified,
Of whom so sweetly it discoursed to me
That the Soul said, "With her I long to be!"
Now One appears that drives the thought aside,
And masters me with so effectual might
That my heart quivers to the outward sight.

This on a Lady fixes my regard
And says, "Who seeks where his salvation lies
Must gaze intently in this Lady's eyes,
Nor dread the sighs of anguish!" O, ill-starred!
Such opposite now breaks the humble dream
Of the crowned angel in the glory beam.

Still, therefore, the Soul weeps, "The tender stir,"
It says, "of thought that once consoled me flies!"
That troubled one asks, "When into thine eyes
Looked she? Why doubted they my words of her?"
I said, "Her eyes bear death to such as I:
Yet, vainly warned, I gaze on her and die.

"Thou art not dead, but in a vain dismay,
Dear Soul of ours so lost in thy distress,"
Whispers a spirit voice of tenderness.
"This Lady's beauty darkens all your day,
Vile fear possesses you; see, she is lowly
Pitiful, courteous, though so wise and holy.