What made you find your way to me,
my sweet Jesus, with an offer of friendship?
When you often knocked quietly at my door,
I let you stand outside in the cold night, in the dark.
I behaved cruelly and did not open to you,
completely blinded by spirit,
in ingratitude, even with contempt in my heart,
not wiping the dust from your holy feet.
The voice of the angel reminded me many times:
go to the window, soul, there He is and desires very much
to embrace you with all the love of His being.
Oh Beauty of beauties, how often I said: “tomorrow,”
I could not bring myself to open for you, my voice
only repeats “tomorrow, tomorrow,” again and again.
(Lope de Vega /1562–1635/, sonnet,
translation by Josef Hrdlička)
