Ballade

Misery might forever me enthrall—
Ever unchanged, I thought it would be there.
He is more pure, more virtuous than all;
What I desire is good beyond compare.
His kindness is, beyond all measure, rare.

I hardly dare his mercy to recall.
I am unwise and thus did not foresee—
I was enchained by fear his face would fall.
In the release of secrets, I am free.


Granted me word of favor he has not,
But who am I to hope for a reply?
In every way my virtue he has taught.
It is enough to know he is nearby.
Suffering on in breathless, wordless cry—

Can even bliss be better than my lot?
Even if loved by Pheme I would flee,
Even if by Orfeo I were sought.
In the release of secrets, I am free.