1. Your gardens are fire, your mouth is cold
O you who is a gazelle, but rather a lion

2. Is this style upon you or is it praise
Are those your cheeks or are they gems

3. I have nothing to do with your cheek, O boy whose hand
Nor with your cheek for the eyes, O hand

4. So how can I weep with the tears of my body
No tears remained for me, nor a body