1


This longing to meet in the play of love, my Lover, is not only mine but
yours.

Your lips can smile, your flute make music, only through delight in my
love; therefore you are importunate even as I.



2


I sit here on the road; do not ask me to walk further.

If your love can be complete without mine let me turn back from seeking
you.

I refuse to beg a sight of you if you do not feel my need.

I am blind with market dust and mid-day glare, and so wait, in hopes that
your heart, my heart's lover, will send you to find me.



3


I am poured forth in living notes of joy and sorrow by your breath.