My heart is stirred and the wind is blowing
From the gentle south; it brings
Spring’s soft footsteps with each stirring
Song it sings from winter’s aisles.
Look, the fig-tree is now blooming;
See it herald in the springtime.
Look, the bridegroom comes for his bride
And my heart stirs with his theme.
You, my king, are excellent
Beyond all men, the fairest one.
Your hear is pure, your robes are fragrant;
Grace flows from your every word.
Who may dwell beneath your bowers?
She who has clean hands and white robes.
See the bride; she comes to meet you.
See her heart prepared for you.
Hear, O daughters; listen, guests who
Gather round our wedding feast.
Clean your robes; wash clean your hearts;
Come and join our wedding feast.
See the lamb; he waits for his bride.
See his garments, white as snow.
Let him wash your hands and your heart.
Let your hearts stir with his theme.
The Consolations of Writing 