How the dawn’s light releases the sweet rose;
O how my heart recalls what love she bestows.
But now, O now I am adrift on pounding wave;
what I once held in my arms has become a rave.
The girl, my love, with her long and scented hair
regards me not with even a cold, heartless stare.
Those were the days, the days of bough and vine
and the book of her lips declaiming divine wine.
Now I chew the cud of the ruminant, reason,
and delight in the vomit of the mind’s treason.
Who can say what represents love’s just reward?
I saw a dead man walking singing the Word.
O Darvish, how you sing a song that few enjoy;
O Darvish, how your song despairs of finding joy!
