For love, in life I didst love thee.
In pride thou didst so eschew me,
And now thou layeth down cold,
Rested before thine petals unfold,
What shame! What shame!
When my soul flew towards thine,
Then when thou wast fair and fine,
When thine face wast fine as glass,
Thine flesh as silk and manner crass,
Thou didst cull me. What shame!
That thine beauty now dies with thee,
That thine memories be stuck with me.
So love me then from where thou lies,
For from thine realm thou shan't chastise,
Not anymore. What shame!