Chapter 3 My heart is heavy with fruit

My heart is laden with fruit, which hungry man to pick, to eat, to share? Is there not a fasting man among men, who fasts my morning fruit, and gives me some relief from the burden of fullness? My heart is weary under the weight of gold and silver; who of men will fill his pockets, and lighten my burden? My heart is full of the old wine of the years, who thirsty to drink, to satisfy? This is a man standing in the middle of the street. He stretched out his hand full of jewels to passers-by, and called to them: "Please! Take some from me! Have mercy! Take what is here from me." Go!" But the people went on without looking back.

Oh, if only he were a beggar who stretches out his trembling hand to passers-by, and withdraws it with an empty trembling hand!If only he were a blind paralyzed man, and people walked past him and ignored him! Here was a generous rich man who pitched his tent in the deserted moors and in the foothills, lit fires every night to receive his guests, and sent his servants to watch by the wayside, and they might bring him home. A guest that can be warmly entertained.But these paths are stingy, and send him neither a receiver nor a supplicant generously. oh!If only he were a forsaken pauper! If only he were a wandering wanderer with a cane in his hand and a jug at his elbow.When night fell, crooked alleys brought him together with his wandering fellow beggars.So he sat by their side and shared the alms of bread with them!

This is the most wonderful king's princess. She woke up from her sleep, got out of the bed, put on a red shirt and green dress, put on pearls and gems, sprinkled musk on her hair, dipped her fingers in ambergris, and walked out. , came to her garden.As she walked, dew wetted her clothes. In the stillness of night the princess of the greatest king is looking for her lover in her garden.But there was no one she loved in her father's kingdom. Oh, I wish she was a farmer's daughter, grazing her father's sheep in the valley, returning to her father's hut at dusk, with isolated dust on her feet, and orchard flowers floating from her clothes. Fragrant.But when the night was quiet and the neighbors were asleep, she would stealthily go to the place where her lover was waiting for her.

If only she were a nun in a convent who burnt her soul like an incense, and the air was filled with the fragrance of her soul; she burned her soul like a candle, and the sky bore her aura; she Kneeled to pray, and the mysterious phantom sent her prayers to the vault of time, where, beside the passion of the lover and the melancholy of the solitary, there is kept the prayer of the pious. If only she were an old frame sitting in the sun with someone who shared her youth!Better than that she be a princess of the greatest king, and no one in her father's kingdom eats her heart for bread and drinks her blood for wine!