1. The reed-flute complains at even-tide,
saying, "They have made me like a exile's flute,

2. play me but haltingly at wine-parties."
"Do not be cross, my dearest one,

3. towards me or my words in verse,
neither take offence at my tongue's poor skill.

4. "If you will come back, my place
can be a pasture sweet with keen delights;

5. and with you near, my roof rises to the ninth heaven of joy."
So, cease from much upbraiding.