Smitten

I have fallen in love ! The Poetry of St. John of the Cross has captivated me.

Where have you hidden,
Beloved, and left me moaning?
You fled like the wounded stag
after wounding me ;
I went out calling you, but you were gone.


Pouring out a thousand graces,
he passed these groves in haste;
and having looked at them,
with his image alone,
clothed them in beauty.