It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am
ashamed.
When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do
not rustle on the trees, and the water is still in the river
like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.
It is my own heart that beats wildly--I do not know how to quiet
it.
When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and
my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the
lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars.
It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I
do not know how to hide it.
10
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking the chain which fastens the
door?
See that your anklets make no loud noise, and that your step is
not over-hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest has come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of April; shadows are pale in the
courtyard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if you must, carry the lamp to the
door if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are shy; stand aside by the door
when you meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if you wish to, you can lower your
eyes in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle when, lamp in hand, you lead him
in.
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