Fair ones, fair ones, a fair one has gone mad; his bowl has fallen from our roof, he has gone to the madhouse.
He circled about the pool like men athirst seeking and searching; suddenly like a dry crust he became a sop in our pool.
Learned man, stop up your ears against this; do not listen to this incantation, for he has become a legend through our charm.
The ears do not escape from this ring which has robbed minds of their reason; having laid his head on the millstone, he vanished like a grain into the measure.
Regard it not as a sport, regard it not as a sport; here choose gambling away life; heads in plenty through love of his curls have become turned upside down like a comb.
Be not puffed up by your reason; many a well-trusted master who was a pillar of the world has become more lamenting than the Moaning Pillar.
I, who have cut away from life, roselike have rent my robe, thence have become such that my reason has become a stranger to my soul.
Those drops of individual reason have become vanquished in the Sea of Reason; the atoms of these fragmentary souls have become annihilated in the Beloved.
I will keep silent, I will perform the command and hide this candle—a candle in whose light the sun and the moon are moths.
