O Mother mine, spread me the silken sheet,
And let me lie down and cover me with rose leaves.
For love-sick am I, and flames of love consume me.
And if I die tomorrow, Mother, I beseech you
Call round me my comrades, the daughters of love,
And over my bier let them sing me my dirge.
O mother mine, yesterday our secret was our own;
Today who does not know it?
My love has gone far,
And now I would write to him.
If you deny me paper, I'll write on the wings of birds;
And if ink you deny me, I'll write with my heart's blood!
