Come, come, for the rosebower has blossomed; come, come, for the beloved has arrived.
Bring at once altogether soul and world; deliver over to the sun, for the sun has drawn a fine blade.
Laugh at that ugly one showing off airs; weep for that friend who is severed from the Friend.
The whole city seethed when the rumour ran abroad that the madman had once again escaped from his chains.
What day is it, what day is it, such a day of uprising?— Perchance the scroll of men’s deeds has already fluttered from the skies.
Beat the drums, and speak no more; what place is there for heart and mind? For the soul too has fled.
