It came to me like a bird of the evening that hurriedly flies across the lampless room from the one open window to the other, and disappears in the night.
You are hidden like a star behind the hills, and I am a passer-by upon the road.
But why did you stop for a moment and glance at my face through your veil while you walked by the riverside path with the full pitcher upon your hip?
Day after day he comes and goes away.
Go, and give him a flower from my hair, my friend.
If he asks who was it that sent it, I entreat you do not tell him my name-for he only comes and goes away.
He sits on the dust under the tree.
Spread there a seat with flowers and leaves, my friend.
His eyes are sad, and they bring sadness to my heart.
He does not speak what he has in mind; he only comes and goes away.
Why did he choose to come to my door, the wandering youth, when the day dawned?
As I come in and out I pass by him every time, and my eyes are caught by his face.
I know not if I should speak to him or keep silent. Why did he choose to come to my door.
The cloudy nights in July are dark; the sky is soft blue in the autumn; the spring days are restless with the south wind.
He weaves his songs with fresh tunes every time.
I turn from my work and my eyes fill with the mist. Why did he choose to come my door?
When she passed by me with quick steps, the end of her skirt touched me.
From the unknown island of a heart came a sudden warm breath of spring.
A flutter of a flitting touch brushed me and vanished in a moment, like a torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
It fell upon my heart like a sigh of her body and whisper of her heart.
Why do you sit there and jingle your bracelets in mere idle sport?
Fill your pitcher. It is time for you to come home.
Why do you stir the water with your hands and fitfully glance at the road for some one in mere idle sport?
Fill your pitcher and come home.
The morning hours pass by-the dark water flows on.
The waves are laughing and whispering to each other in mere idle sport.
The wandering clouds have gathered at the edge of the sky on yonder rise of the land.
They linger and look at your face and smile mere idle sport.
Fill your pitcher and come home.
Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend!
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
You who smile so gently, softly whisper, my heart will hear it, not my ears.
The night is deep, the house is silent, the birds’nests are shrouded with sleep.
Speak to me through hesitating tears, through faltering smiles, through sweet shame and pain, the secret of your heart.
“Come to us, youth, tell us truly why there is madness in your eyes?”
“I know not what wine of wild poppy I have drunk, that there is this madness in my eyes.”
“Ah, shame!”
“Well, some are wise and some foolish, some are watchful and some careless. There are eyes that smile and eyes that weep-and madness is in my eyes.”
“Youth, why do you stand so still under the shadow of the tree?”
“My feet are languid with the burden of my heart, and I stand still in the shadow.”
“Ah, shame!”
“Well, some march on their way and some linger, some are free and some are fettered-and my feet are languid with the burden of my heart.”
“What comes from your willing hands I take. I beg for nothing more.”
“Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.”
“If there be a stray flower for me I will wear it in my heart.”
“But if there be thorns?”
“I will endure them.”
“Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.”
“If but once you should raise your loving eyes to my face it would make my life sweet beyond death.”
“But if there be only cruel glances?”
“I will keep them piercing my heart.”
“Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.”
“Trust love even if it brings sorrow. Do not close up your heart.”
“Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.”
“The heart is only giving away with a tear and a song, my love.”
“Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.”
“Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes.”
“Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.”
“The lotus blooms in the sight of the sun, and loses all that it has. It would not remain in bud in the eternal winter mist.”
“Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.”
Your questioning eyes are sad. They seem to know my meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end, with nothing hidden or held back. That is why you know me not.
If it were only a gem I could break it into a hundred pieces and string them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears, reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants and wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know it.
Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.
The night is dark. The stars are lost in clouds. The wind is sighing through the leaves.
I will let loose my hair. My blue cloak will cling round me like night. I will clasp your head to my bosom; and there in the sweet loneliness murmur on your heart. I will shut my eyes and listen. I will not look in your face.
When your words are ended, we will sit still and silent. Only the trees will whisper in the dark.
The night will pale. The day will dawn. We shall look at each other’s eyes and go on our different paths.
Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.
You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams.
I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams!
Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart’s desire, Gleaner of my sunset songs!
Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams!
With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes, Haunter of the depth of my gaze!
I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music.
