I write of one with eyes like purest doves-
Who loves me and has bid me with him dine.
To go, I would forsake all other loves
For I am my Beloved's, he is mine.
The voice of my Beloved! Speak to me...
I sleep, yet my heart wakes to hear his call;
When drawn, I will run after him, for he
Is altogether lovely-Christ my all.
Ah then, when in the clouds he shall declare,
"Rise up, my love, my fair one-come away!"
I shall, unspotted, meet him in the air.
Until at daybreak shadows flee away,
My Lord's desire for me shall see no end-
For this is my Beloved, this my Friend.