Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Some thoughts have come to me
that God knows as much of me,
But how, alas! How may that be
love comes to all the rest but me?
O wily wind go find and tell me
on a tree how many leaves there be
or fishes swimming in the vast sea?
Not lost yet, although I like to be
amid the stars in the heavens I see.
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
What a strange spell is come over me
that I should dance and shout in glee?
Should not I be more inclined to flee
where a fair wind blows fresh and free
and sail through life’s tempestuous sea
lest I turn back and there’s nothing to see;
I lie in your hands O death, pray be kind to me
Fly away breath, set this weary wayfarer free!
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