Wounded of Love - Bonaggiunta Urbisani

Wounded, I pray my wounder to beware
  Lest me, by plucking out her barb, she slay;
For many dying I have seen, that were
  Not killed by wound, but weapon drawn away.
For this I will my wound in quiet bear,
  And live with patience, if but live I may;
For all he conquers, who will not despair;
  A man by patience wins in every fray.
I ask then of thy mercy, O my light,
  Sweet lady, and my solace all alone,
  Withdraw not from my deadly wound thy spear;
Choose not, for God’s love, I should perish quite;
  My sorrow’s port I hope to find anon;
My heart has learnt not by long pain to veer.

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Bonaggiunta Urbisani (c. 1220 – 1290) Italy
Translated by Charles Bagot Cayley
Source: The Sonnets of Europe, ed. by Samuel Waddington. Walter Scott, 1888