Gaspara Stampa

Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told, Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see, Though young in years, in wisdom passing old, Model of glory and of valiancy; Fair-haired, bright colour glowing in his face, Tall and well-set, broad-shouldered, finally, In all his parts a paragon of grace Except in loving wantonly, ah me! Who'd know myself, picture a woman wrought In passion and in presence after pain's And death's own bitter images, a port Of safety where untroubled rest remains; One who with neither tears, nor sighs, nor zest Wakes pity in her cruel lover's breast.

Deeply repentant of my sinful ways And of my trivial, manifold desires, Of squandering, alas, these few brief days Of fugitive life in tending love's vain fires, To Thee, Lord, Who dost move hard hearts again, And render warmth unto the frozen snow, And lighten every bitter load of pain For those who with Thy sacred ardours glow, To Thee I turn, O stretch forth Thy right hand And from this whirlpool rescue me, for I Without Thine aid could never reach the land; O willingly for us didst suffer loss, And to redeem mankind hung on the Cross, O gentle Saviour, leave me not to die.