Not what I ask, but what I do not ask,
O my Beloved, proves my love for you.
And love can set to love no harder task
Than wistful silence, reticence to sue.
I lock my lips, I force a wise content
With all my being wailing for a sign.
Ah, if men knew what woman's smiling meant
When fierce and hard the heart cries out “He's mine.”
Mothers of men are we, we barren ones
Who say “Be happy, dear, and play your part.”
What matter how we yearn, you are our sons
Whose every footfall breaks a woman's heart.