Where dost thou stand behind them all, my lover, hiding thyself in the shadow? They push thee and pass thee by on the dusty road, taking thee for naught. I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for thee, while passer by come and take my flowers one by one and my basket is nearly empty.
The morning time is past and the noon. In the shade of evening my eyes are drawing with sleep. Men going home glance at me and smile and fill me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid drawing my skirt over my face and when they ask me, what is it I want, I drop my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for thee I wait, and thou hast promised to come. How could I utter for shame that I keep for my dowry this absolute poverty of mine for thy royal favour of acceptance. Ah, I hug this pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and
