1. Gardens of this world are delighted with it,
For its craftsman shaped it into a loose robe,

2. With interlaced patterns, sweet soil,
Bearing more than a robe could bear,

3. Its clasps are clusters that dangle between them,
Shining above as they darken below,

4. As if the descendants of Ham are dangling through them,
So its shape matches that shape,

5. And if squeezed, it pours forth a juice as if
It were the nectar bees collect, though it knows no bees,

6. And covered, the bulk of breasts with tips
Touched gently by branches, burdened,

7. As if the taste and its flavor were
The saliva of virgins, or sweeter yet.