1. Enough of your suns, for secrets are a trust
I was charged with, and when fully ripe, I tossed them away

2. No chaste mother is your ancient night,
That I named it for the people or identified it

3. Yet it is the murdered one, not harmed by its murder
Your silence from virtue, though you did not silence it

4. And it was nourished on the honor of drinking what
They hide, and I made it grow to vineyards

5. As if it was from the spawning of intelligence,
I clapped for it and with pearls I adorned it

6. And I painted it red without making it distinct
Clearly seen in radiant white I reddened it

7. And constant in your palms, in its humiliation,
Like one constant on your cheeks I heated it

8. So she forcibly snatched the cups with her lips
Until she bent the living souls as she demolished them

9. Bearing a treasure under dark sorrel that did not cease
To be deficient in the two blond ones with her treasure