III

5 0 00

III

Poplars of the meadow,

Fountains of Madrid,

Now I am absent from you

All are slandering me.

Each of you is telling

How evil my chance is

The wind among the branches,

The fountains in their welling

To every one telling

You were happy to see.

Now I am absent from you

All are slandering me.

With good right I may wonder

For that at my last leaving

The plants with sighs heaving

And the waters in tears were.

That you played double, never

Thought I this could be,

Now I am absent from you

All are slandering me.

There full in your presence

Music you sought to waken,

Later I’m forsaken

Since you are ware of my absence.

God, wilt Thou give me patience

Here while suffer I ye,

Now I am absent from you

All are slandering me.