When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb, should you come to visit me, I will come forth with speed.
You are for me the blast of the trumpet and the resurrection, so what shall I do? Dead or living, wherever you are, there am I.
Without your lip I am a frozen and silent reed; what melodies I play the moment you breathe on my reed!
Your wretched reed has become accustomed to your sugar lip; remember wretched me, for I am seeking you.
When I do not find the moon of your countenance, I bind up my head [veil myself in mourning]; when I do not find your sweet lip, I gnaw my own hand.
