1. My body yearns for you, my troubling delight,
My heart is in love with you, yet knows no respite,

2. O you at whose blame, though the blamers decry,
My plea but increases in flowing reply,

3. Shall I be slain by the brief glance of my foe?
Or schooled in forbearance? Or perfected grow?

4. Can passion so fervent find torture its due,
When eyes overflowing with tears wait on you?

5. Or has your own glamour ensnared you as well
In the magic that binds every soul in its spell?