Lay soft your tread, sweet woman, and comprise
The passion of my artistry this night
Lay still your lips, fair lady, so that I
Could gather what you feel from in your eyes.

Lay heavy, words, if they must be spoke true
Allow me to enliven them with you
Lay low, yon sky, and fill my mind with peace
That I'll forget your countenance beyond tomorrow's reach.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Scarlatan, in the year 457 AF.