Lady, you’ve not let slip your veil, in sunlight or in shade,
since first you recognised the great desire my eyes betrayed:
desire so strong, it drives all other longings from my heart.

While I kept thoughts of love a secret, hidden and apart
(such was my shame of them, a death-wish overtook my mind),
the face you showed me was adorned with pity. You were kind —

until Love made you wary of me. Now your blonde hair’s veiled
when you go out, your loving glance removed. You have withheld
the very thing I craved the most. This covering you wear,

all the year long, both governs me and drives me to despair.
Shield you it may, from summer’s heat and winter’s icy breath;
to me, your lovely eyes’ sweet light is dimmed, and that is death.