Which me doth so devour,
That day and night alike I find no ease
For whether it was by hearing, touch, or sight,
Unwonted was the power,
And fresh the fire that me each way did seize
Wherein without release
I languish still, and of thee, Lord, am fain,
For thou alone canst comfort and make whole.
Ah! tell me if it shall be, and how soon,
That I again thee meet
Where those death-dealing eyes I kissed. Thou, chief
Weal of my soul, my very soul, this boon
Deny not; say that flee
Thou hiest hither: comfort thus my grief.