A woman's fears my heart control:
What have I done with these, my part,
My hands, the lilies of my soul,
Mine eyes, the heavens of my heart?
O Lord, have pity on my grief:
I have lost the palm and ring, alas!
Pity my prayers, my poor relief,
Cut flowers and fragile in a glass.
Pity the trespass of my mouth,
And things undone, and words unsaid;
Shed lilies on my fever's drouth,
And roses on the marshes shed!
O God! The doves whose flights are gold
On heavens remembered! Pity too
These garments that my loins enfold,
That rustle round me, dimly blue!