A woman sings to a man whose affection for her is waning:
“As a great mountain, with its cooling streams,
Nourishes the little fields far down below,
Do you, my lover, with a stream of love,
Nourish the heart of her who loves you so.”
The man replies to the woman:
“When autumn chills destroy the honeyed flowers,
The bees must do without their favourite food;
So when my passion cools, and dies my love,
You should submit to this my changéd mood.”
A man sings to a woman:
“Up every rocky cliff some path exists,
If one can find a guide to show the way;
So to your heart some avenue must lead,
Teach me, forthwith, that path of love, I pray.”
The woman replies:
“Were I inclined to grant this fruit [12] to you,
The gift were thine at once—to-day, to-morrow.
But oh! I fear that lurking at your back,
Are demons red [13] to bring me endless sorrow.”