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.
