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.
