1. They blamed me and accused me much of loving him,
As if I had not been destined for humiliation.

2. I said, had it been up to my youthful passion,
I would have chosen that, but it was not up to me.

3. In every heart there are spoiled tendencies
To beauty, and beauty reigns wherever it settles.

4. I hung him, the fragrance of my delicious mouth,
Tempting the kisser, more magic than a charm.

5. When you look upon him, he gives you, turning,
Whatever you wish of the amorous glances of the fawn.

6. Alas! Would I seek other than him for love?
The nights pass by—and is there any substitute for love?

7. Is he blamed that pleasure keeps him occupied?
Who can distinguish properly between ornament and leisure?

8. A gazelle, you have not ceased being artful in love,
Your fingers roaming in thought over love.

9. A fawn playing with the spindle, his fingers
Sporting with the pole on which the days spin.

10. No sooner does fatigue visit his limbs, busily working,
Than I ransom him from the fatigue of busily working limbs,

11. Whether tugging with his palms or feeling with his toes—
The struggling of the gazelle in cleverly set snares.