1. How many a hand to the rose is thankful
To me, and is not like the narcissus' deceit

2. The rose comes, and the faces of the meadows
Smile from one with smooth coldness

3. It has adorned itself with necklaces of dew
Growing in the earth, not planted

4. You will not see the narcissus until you see
The gardens of cress, shabby in dress

5. And the unfortunate ones create what has been renewed
By the hands of the loving one in the brilliance of satin

6. There the strange one will come to you
With longing from the eyes and the souls