Not for all of beauty
Will I ever lose myself,
But for I-don't-know-what
Which is attained so gladly.

Delight in the world's good things
At the very most
Can only tire the appetite
And spoil the palate;
And so, not for all of sweetness
Will I ever lose myself,
But for I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

The generous heart
Never delays over easy things
But eagerly goes on
To more difficult ones.
Nothing satisfies it,
And its faith ascends so high
That it tastes I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

He who is sick with love,
Whom God Himself has touched,
Finds his tastes so changed
That they fall sway
Like a fevered man's
Who loathes any food he sees
And desires I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

Do not wonder
That the taste should be left like this,
For the cause of this sickness
Differs from all others;
And so he is withdrawn
From all creatures,
And tastes I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

For when once the will
Is touched by God Himself
It cannot be satisfied
Except by God;
But since His Beauty is open
To faith alone, the will
Tastes Him in I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

Tell me then, would you pity
A man so in love,
For he takes no delight
In all of creation;
Alone, mind empty of form and figure,
Finding no support or foothold,
He tastes there I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

Do not think that he who lives
The so precious inner life
Finds joy and gladness
In the sweetnesses of earth;
But there beyond all beauty
And what is and will be and was,
He tastes I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

The man who seeks to advance
Looks carefully to
What he has yet to gain
More than to what he has gained;
And so I will always tend
Toward greater heights;
Beyond all things, to I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.

I will never lose myself
For that which the senses
Can take in here,
Nor for all the mind can hold,
No matter how lofty,
Nor for grace or beauty,
But only for I-don't-know-what
Which is so gladly found.