Chapter 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.