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A poem
As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
So have men gazed upon my countenance and wandered,
like thorns in the valley.
They seek, but do not find.
They knock, but the door does not open.
So is the Son of Man, that all should embrace thy countenance but have no fill.
For as the woman is a rose, so is the Man like a bushel of burning primrose.
They that seeketh the darling of the foster shall make unto thy hand the remembrance of darling fellows.
As so the Sun rises upon the dawn, so shall the forthright remembrance of the doe be counted as to the bride like a wedding flower.
His heart and his mind are but fellows to the dock, and the ropes thereof break under the tension of the vessel.
Their hearts and minds like fetters adorned with garland, and covers placed upon their eyes to blind them from envy.
