CANDID with thy modesty, resolute with thy shyness,
Sweet nightingale, soon may thy passion prosper.
I heard thee repeatedly call the Faeries,
And saw them array with pearls the eyelashes of Abra,
For she pitied thy plaint from the shadiness of our loves.
I said to Abra, these are my pearls,
She smiled, and showered them into my bosom:
The dove was over her, the rainbow on her cheek.
The pearls of Abra are now my pearls.
Sweet nightingale, soon also may thy passion prosper.