Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
Less than rust, that never stained thy Sword,
Less than the trust thou hast in me, Oh, Lord,
Even less than these !
Less than the weed, that grows beside thy door,
Less than the speed, of hour, spent far from thee,
Less than the need thou hast in life of me,
Even less am I.
On the sea, we spend our midday sweat,
our midnight oil;
We tire the night in thought,
the day in toil.
Lady of Portugal, I adore you.
Right from the night I first saw you,
My heart has been yearning for you,
What else could any heart do ?
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