The Secret of your Heart

Do not keep to yourself the [secret]1 of your heart, 
my friend!
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
You who smile so gently, 
softly whisper, 
my heart will hear it,
not my ears.

The night is deep, 
the house is silent, 
the birds' nests are shrouded with sleep.
Speak to me 
through hesitating tears, 
through faltering smiles,
through sweet shame and pain, 
the secret of your heart!

When the two sisters go to fetch water,
they come to this spot and they smile.
They must be aware of somebody
who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters whisper to each other
when they pass this spot.
They must have guessed the secret
of that somebody who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills
when they reach this spot.
They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating,
who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

The two sisters glance at each other
when they come to this spot, and they smile.
There is a laughter in their swift stepping feet,
which makes confusion in somebody's mind,
who stands behind the trees
whenever they go to fetch water.

He whispered, "My love, raise your eyes."
I sharply [chid]1 him, and said "Go!";
but he did not stir.
He stood before me and held both my hands. 
I said, "Leave me!";
but he did not go.

He brought his face near my ear. 
I glanced at him and said, "What a shame!"; 
but he did not move.
His lips touched my cheek. 
I trembled and said, "You dare too much";
but he had no shame.

He put a flower in my hair. 
I said, "It is useless!"; but he stood unmoved.
He took the garland from my neck and went away. 
I weep and ask my heart, 
"Why does he not come back?"

Then finish the last song 
and let us leave.
Forget this night when the night is no more.
Whom do I try to clasp in my arms?  
Dreams can never be made captive.
My eager hands press emptiness 
to my heart and it bruises my breast.

My songs are like bees; they follow through the air 
some fragrant trace -- some memory -- of you, 
to hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store.

When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, 
when in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness 
and the forest is silent, my songs return home,
their languid wings dusted with gold.

My heart, the bird of the wilderness,
has found its sky in your eyes:
They are the cradle of the morning,
they are the kingdom of the stars;
My songs are lost in their depths.
Let me but soar in that sky,
in its lonely immensity!
Let me but cleave its clouds
and spread wings in its sunshine.