Go seek her out all courteously,
And say I come,
Wind of spices whose song is ever Epithalamium.
O, hurry over the dark lands And run upon the sea For seas and lands shall not divide us My love and me.
Now, wind, of your good courtesy I pray you go,
And come into her little garden And sing at her window;
The bridal wind is blowing For Love is at his noon;
And soon will your true love be with you,