1. She frowns when I ask her for a glance,
With which I may heal what love inflicts upon my heart,

2. Yet to me, maidens seem like lifeless forms,
So my heart preserves her absence though she knows not,

3. And one I do not see imprisons me over what I see,
My secret witness over whispered and loudly spoken,

4. And my heart grieves for her mystery and protects it,
Though she has neither gratitude nor guardians for it.