III
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oplars of the meadow,Fountains of Madrid,Now I am absent from youAll are slandering me. Each of you is tellingHow evil my chance isThe wind among the branches,The fountains in their wellingTo every one tellingYou were happy to see.Now I am absent from youAll are slandering me. With good right I may wonderFor that at my last leavingThe plants with sighs heavingAnd the waters in tears were.That you played double, neverThought I this could be,Now I am absent from youAll are slandering me. There full in your presenceMusic you sought to waken,Later I'm forsakenSince you are ware of my absence.God, wilt Thou give me patienceHere while suffer I ye,Now I am absent from youAll are slandering me.
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