MY SONG HAS put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers. My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
MY HEART is on fire with the flame of thy songs. It spreads and knows no bounds. It dances swinging its arms in the sky, burning up the dead and the decaying. The silent stars watch it from across the darkness. The drunken winds come rushing upon it from all sides. O, this fire, like a red lotus, spreads its petals in the heart of the night.