1. Sleep flees my eyelids, ever wakeful, ever wearied,
And patience deserts my heart, wandering far from me.

2. O You who rose in splendor with the dawn's fair light,
The heart of meaning was not forged from iron or steel.

3. My heart is eternal in sorrow for You,
And in a passion that makes the newborn seem old.

4. In You, my death is a martyr's passion,
And more than all my being, it grows and spreads.