and disappears in the night.
You are hidden as a star behind the hills, and I am a passer-by
upon the road.
But why did you stop for a moment and glance at my face through
your veil while you walked by the riverside path with the full
pitcher upon your hip?

20

Day after day he comes and goes away.
Go, and give him a flower from my hair, my friend.
If he asks who was it that sent it, I entreat you do not tell him
my name--for he only comes and goes away.

He sits on the dust under the tree.
Spread there a seat with flowers and leaves, my friend.
His eyes are sad, and they bring sadness to my heart.
He does not speak what he has in mind; he only comes and goes
away.

21

Why did he choose to come to my door, the wandering youth, when
the day dawned?
As I come in and out I pass by him every time, and my eyes are
caught by his face.
I know not if I should speak to him or keep silent. Why did he
choose to come to my door?

The cloudy nights in July are dark; the sky is soft blue in the
autumn; the spring days are restless with the south wind.
He weaves his songs with fresh tunes every time.
I turn from my work and my eyes fill with the mist. Why did he
choose to come to my door?

22

When she passed by me with quick steps, the end of her skirt
touched me.
From the unknown island of a heart came a sudden warm breath of
spring.
A flutter of a flitting touch brushed me and vanished in a
moment, like a torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
It fell upon my heart like a sigh of her body and whisper of her
heart.

23

Why do you sit there and jingle your bracelets in mere idle
sport?
Fill your pitcher. It is time for you to come home.

Why do you stir the water with your hands and fitfully glance at
the road for some one in mere idle sport?
Fill your pitcher and come home.

The morning hours pass by--the dark waters flows on.
The waves are laughing and whispering to each other in mere idle
sport.

The wandering clouds have gathered at the edge of the sky on
yonder rise of the land.
They linger and look at your face and smile in mere idle sport.
Fill your pitcher and come home.

24

Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend!
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
You who smile so gently, softly whisper, my heart will hear it,
not my ears.

The night i