Do not look at the Lovers and say
"those are mistaken",
You are not qualified to judge them, child.What is there, when I'm with myself?
The more still I become, the louder it sounds.All the joy of life doesn't matter at all to me,
Except when my Beloved's beauty shines in it,
like the Sun.The monks and nuns are soaked in the blood of hearts
they've murdered,
I pray that one day they cleanse themselves with wine.I'm respected at the fire-altars of heathens,
because the fire that burns forever is within me.I can remember, though long past, with what mastery
the musician played his instrument
This has stayed in my heart.Last night, your love-note came to me,
and now my heart brims with Bliss.
