If you tell me "come!", I leave everything ...
I will not even look
to look at the beloved woman ...
But tell me strong, in such a way
that your voice, as a call,
vibrate to the most intimate bend
of being, lift the soul of your mud
and wound the heart like a sword.
If you tell me "come!", I leave everything.
I will arrive at your almost old sanctuary,
and the twilight of the twilight light;
but I have to compensate for my delay,
spreading to me Oh Christ! Like a spikenard
of subtle perfume, before your altar!