I trusted in Saint Peter, not so now;
    Let him who can my meaning understand. 
    A harsh rule is a heavy weight to bear. 
    I melt but where I must, and stand alone. 
    I think of him who falling died in Po;
    Already thence the thrush has pass’d the brook
    Come, see if I say sooth!  No more for me. 
    A rock amid the waters is no joke,
    Nor birdlime on the twig.  Enough my grief
    When a superfluous pride
    In a fair lady many virtues hides. 
    There is who answereth without a call;
    There is who, though entreated, fails and flies: 
    There is who melts ’neath ice: 
    There is who day and night desires his death.

    Love who loves you, is an old proverb now. 
    Well know I what I say.  But let it pass;
    ’Tis meet, at their own cost, that men should learn. 
    A modest lady wearies her best friend. 
    Good figs are little known.  To me it seems
    Wise to eschew things hazardous and high;
    In any country one may be at ease. 
    Infinite hope below kills hope above;
    And I at times e’en thus have been the talk. 
    My brief life that remains
    There is who’ll spurn not if to Him devote. 
    I place my trust in Him who rules the world,
    And who his followers shelters in the wood,
    That with his pitying crook
    Me will He guide with his own flock to feed.

    Haply not every one who reads discerns;
    Some set the snare at times who take no spoil;
    Who strains too much may break the bow in twain. 
    Let not the law be lame when suitors watch. 
    To be at ease we many a mile descend. 
    To-day’s great marvel is to-morrow’s scorn. 
    A veil’d and virgin loveliness is best. 
    Blessed the key which pass’d within my heart,
    And, quickening my dull spirit, set it free
    From its old heavy chain,
    And from my bosom banish’d many a sigh. 
    Where most I suffer’d once she suffers now;
    Her equal sorrows mitigate my grief;
    Thanks, then, to Love that I
    Feel it no more, though he is still the same!

    In silence words that wary are and wise;
    The voice which drives from me all other care;
    And the dark prison which that fair light hides: 
    As midnight on our hills the violets;
    And the wild beasts within the walls who dwell;
    The kind demeanour and the dear reserve;
    And from two founts one stream which flow’d in peace
    Where I desire, collected where I would. 
    Love and sore jealousy have seized my heart,
    And the fair face whose guides
    Conduct me by a plainer, shorter way
    To my one hope, where all my torments end. 
    O treasured bliss, and all from thee which flows
    Of peace, of war, or truce,
    Never abandon me while life is left!