I am a painter, a picture-maker, every moment I fashion an idol, then before you I melt away all the idols,
I raise up a hundred images and mingle them with spirit; when I see your image, I cast them in the fire.
You are the vintner’s saki or the enemy of the sober, or the one who lays waste every house I build.
Over you the soul is poured forth, with you it is mingled; since the soul has the perfume of you, I will cherish the soul.
Every drop of blood that flows out of me says to your dust, “I am one in colour with your love, I am the playmate of your affection.”
In the house of water and clay this heart without you is desolate; either enter the house, O soul, or I will abandon the house.
