All other love is like the moon:

For your reading pleasure, a late Medieval lyric. Always provided my modernisation of the language is not hopelessly obscure. This is one of my favourites.


All other love is like the moon:
It waxes and wanes, like a meadow flower
That buds, and blooms, and fades full soon,
Like a day that runs swiftly, and ends in rain.

All other love begins with bliss,
But ends in weeping and in woe:
No love can offer perfect solace
But that which rests in heaven's King,

Whose love is daily fresh and green,
And ever full, and never wanes.
His love is sweet, it has no sting,
His love is endless and unfailing.

All other love I leave for thee;
Tell me, tell me, where thou liest?
"Such love may be found, full free
In Mary mild -- but more in Christ."

Christ, I did not find you -- you found me.
Hold me to yourself with all your might,
Give me that my love may be steadfast,
And not turn, again, so soon aside.

Whenever now my heart is sore,
When, indeed, foes spill its blood --
God kens my life, I care no more--
My hope is this: his will is good.

Alas! What may I do at Rome?
But only say, by law of love:
"I were undone by man's just doom,
But he is my Helper, that sits above."