I boasted among men that I had known you.
They see your pictures in all works of mine.
They come and ask me, “Who is he”?
I know not how to answer them. I say, “Indeed, I cannot tell.” They blame me and they go away in scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs. The secret gushes out from my heart. They come and ask me, “Tell me all your meanings.” I know not how to answer them. I say, “Ah, who knows what they mean!” They smile and go away in utter scorn. And you sit there smiling.