THE NEWS OF my love is abroad among the spring flowers. It brings to my mind the old songs. My heart of a sudden has put on green leaves of desire. My love came not but her touch is on my hair, and her voice comes across the fragrant fields in murmurs of April. Her gaze is here in the sky, but where are her eyes? Her kisses are in the air, but where are her lips?
THERE ARE numerous strings in your lute, let me add my own among them. Then when you smite your chords my heart will break its silence and my life will be one with your song. Amidst your numberless stars let me place my own little lamp. In the dance of your festival of lights my heart will throb and my life will be one with your smile.