The Maidens

Like the flower

that springs up hidden in a walled garden —

the cattle know it not, no plow does it harm;

the winds caress it, the sun strengthens it, the rain wets it,

and it becomes the beloved of youths and maidens;

but once it withers one day, plucked by a sharp fingernail,

neither youths nor maidens love it any more:

so the virgin —

she remains her beloved's idol

so long as no touch befalls her...

but once her white flower is plucked and her body is sullied,

the youths forsake her, and she falls from the eyes of the maidens.

Come, O Hymen, come to us, O god of marriage!

The Young Men

Like the vine,

unwedded,

that grows in a barren field,

unable to stand up tall,

without strength to bring forth clusters of ripe grapes,

but bends its slender frame, its shoulder bows, and its topmost shoot strikes against its very roots —

no farmer tends it, no ox draws near it;

yet it rejoices in a throng of farmers who tend it, and in a number

of oxen that draw near it,

once it is bound to its sister, coupled with her:

so the virgin —

she grows old, and no one tends her or draws near her...

so long as no touch befalls her.

But on the day she is joined, in the season of ripeness, to a worthy husband,

her husband's love for her grows great, and her father's displeasure with her fades.

Come, O Hymen, come to us, O god of marriage!

And you, O bride, do not quarrel with your bridegroom,

for it is not right that you should quarrel with the man to whom your

father gave you — your father and your mother gave you — and obedience to them is a duty. For your

virginity is not yours alone: a part of it belongs to your parents:

a third of it is your father's, a third your mother's, and one third only is yours.

Do not, then, dispute with two who have yielded up their shares to their son-in-law — yielded up

the two shares, and the dowry with them.

Come, O Hymen, come to us, O god of marriage.

The wind whistles, the thunder roars, and lightning snatches at the pitch-black sky

as terror snatches at my heart!...

Here is my beloved son tossing in my arms... here is my adored child,

crying and clamoring, tossing about in his thirst for me!...

He is thirsty; he wants to drink all the life that wells from my breast — and I

am thirsty like him, but his great love cannot slake my thirst!...

What dreadful tragedy is storming inside me? What sweeping passion undoes me at this hour

and crushes me?...

My husband deceived me, and I came to loathe him; he humbled my pride, and I came to hate him; he went to such lengths

in tormenting and persecuting me that I fell in love with another man, and now, between my duty to my beloved

and my duty to my son, I stand stripped of strength, my wits flown; madness

all but destroys my mind!...

My brave, beautiful beloved cries out to me, saying: Leave your husband and your son

and follow me...

And my helpless, poor child clings to me with all his might, and his pleading eye says:

Mother dear, do not forsake me!...

And I, between my beloved and my child, tear my heart and tear my mind, and I cannot

hide the feeling of shame that rises from my blood and suddenly fills the emptiness of my soul!...

Yes... my son's love is not enough for me... my child's love does not quench

my burning thirst... the love of the fruit my womb brought to flower cannot console me for

the love of the fruit that is desired in me!...

And here I am now, quaking and quivering... here I am now, suffering and trembling.

I must decide, I must cut the knot, I must choose...

Either I forsake my son this very hour and follow my beloved, or I betray my heart,

break my word, and deliver my beloved to death with my own hand!...

He is waiting now... waiting for me!...

And if the hour passes and he despairs of me, he will take his own life from sheer grief and die

cursing me!...

No... I will not let him die... I will rise... I will go... here is

my dress, and my coat, and the letter I wrote to my husband, and the bag I packed

this morning — but... where is my son?... He is no longer in my arms...

He has slipped free of me... parted from me... I laid him down myself on his little bed while I,

absent-minded, was thinking of my beloved! A kiss, O life of my life!... Another kiss, O

fruit of my body... and of my soul!...

He smiles... he laughs... he cries... he stretches out his arms and calls me!...

Ah! What is this I feel? What is this fire that streams from his adored being and burns me?

No... no... I cannot... I will stay...

Let my beloved die... and let my son live....