1. My hand is pledged to you in love and contentment;

    so do not accuse me, after I have unfolded, of folding myself away.

  2. The springs of my eyelids overflow with love

    for you, yet I have no way to quench my thirst.

  3. My heart charges me with bearing its burden;

    and who can bear its pounding—and remain alive?

  4. Pilgrims bring forward their sacrificial beasts as offerings,

    but in my love I have no sacrificial gift but my heart.

  5. He whose gaze covets your gathering calls out to you,

    like a sick man’s cry, seeking honey in bitter colocynth.

  6. Jealously he guards your secret from all others,

    although love’s secret is recognized in its outward guise.

  7. He dies and lives again in anguish and desire;

    love is none other than one who brings death and gives life.

  8. They ask, “What ails you?” I deny it out of modest reserve;

    yet affirmation may be understood from the very form of denial.

  9. This heart fears you many times more than it loves you;

    it holds out both palms to you, then grows shy.

  10. After you, it consoles itself with the thought of forgetting;

    but how impossible! After you, no living soul remains in the encampment.

Sol 6.1