I will not be wandering about
Trampling goosefoot in the bushes any more;
And I know you"ll never come around
In my dreams, oat-haired, as before.
You were tender beautiful and fair,
Berry juice upon your skin, so light.
You resembled rosy sunset glare,
And, like snow, you were lustrous, fair and bright.
Having shed their grain your eyes are fading,
And your name has melted like the sound of chimes;
But the folders of your crumpled shawl and veiling
Have retained the smell of honey from your arms.
When it"s quiet and the sunset smartens,
Like a kitten, washing up its face.
I can hear the honeycomb-like patterns
Chat about you, along with wind and haze.
Well, the evening tells me you are oderous,
Like a dream, a flower and sweet song...
After all, who has designed your waist, your shoulders
Apprehending holy secret all along?
I will not be wandering about
Trampling goosefoot in the bushes any more;
And I know you"ll never come around
In my dreams, oat-haired, as before.