1. My heart is confused, who loves and who consoles
And who is she, other than the virgins, for him a family

2. If my heart were frozen, it would give me rest
And spare me what's other than it, fire and murder

3. But it is my heart, and my heart is a vine
Of swaying branches that cast no shade

4. Yet in it is a drop of the dew of love
That makes the wanderer crazed and the abode flourish