Oh, ripen, flax, for I want to weave you
into bed sheets where my lover
will slumber soon, soon he will return!
(With the spring he must return.)
Oh, rose, your tight bud unfurls!
You must be the bouquet that perfumes his parlor.
Intensify your colors, gather your fragrance,
open up your pores, for my lover arrives.
I will fasten his legs with shackles of gold.
Lightweight chains of the cleanest steel,
I will order with haste, with haste for love
is the blacksmith who makes them sparkling and eternal.
And I will sow poppies throughout all of the garden.
May he never remember the pathways nor the routes!
Fatigue: may your blindfolds squeeze his nerves.
Effeminacy: be the dog that guards the door.