You are the most precious thing I have seen:

treasures in abundance, and springs dripping nectar,

and depths that hold pearls;

rays of light when the sun, seized with vanity, veils itself,

and a paradise of perfumes and enchantments.

In you is what is in you — and this is but part of it —

and you carry it all with you always:

a treasure that cannot be wrested away.

Precious you are, and very bold:

else how could you carry what you carry

and walk everywhere,

fearing no thief and no plunderer,

defying the universe and all who dwell in it?

Your companion the flower is afraid:

it shrinks at a touch and withers at a plucking.

And you are not afraid:

no shrinking, though the touches be many,

no withering, though plucking has its season.

The sea may fall desolate, my beloved,

and become a poor playground for ships.

The springs may run dry, becoming a pit one fears to stumble into.

Gold may wear away, and lose its luster.

But your treasures are abundant, lasting,

never perishing — unless you perish.

Your companion the flower — you surpass it in boldness

and surpass it in worth:

if the flower is stripped of its gay garment

it stands there ugly;

while you, my beloved, you of the treasures,

reveal your treasures in being bared.