I become not satiated with you—this is my only sin; be not satiated with compassion for me, O my refuge in both worlds!
Satiated and weary of me have become his jar, and watercarrier and waterskin; every moment my water-seeking fish becomes thirstier.
Break the pitcher, tear up the waterskin, I am going towards the sea; make clear my road.
How long will the earth become mire from my teardrops? How long will the sky be darkened by the grief and smoke of my sighs?
How long will my heart lament, “Alas, my heart, my ruined heart?” How long will my lips wail before the phantom of my king?
Go towards the sea from which the wave of delight is coming; behold how my house and hospice are drowned in its wave.
Last night the water of life surged from the courtyard of my house; my Joseph yesterday fell like the moon into my well.
Suddenly the torrent came and swept all my harvest away; smoke mounted from my heart, my grain and chaff were consumed.
Though my harvest is gone, I will not grieve; why should I grieve? The halo of the light of my moon is more than enough for a hundred like me.
He entered my heart; his image was of fire. The fire rose over my head; my cap was consumed.
He said, “Concerts impair dignity and respect.” You can have dignity, for His love is my luck and dignity.
I desire not intellect and wisdom; his learning is enough for me. The light of his cheek at midnight is the blaze of my dawn.
The army of sorrow is mustering; I will not grieve at his army because my horses, squadron on squadron, have seized even heaven.
After every ode my heart repents of discoursing; the summons of my God waylays my heart.
