IN THE place of tears, I, the singer, watch my flowers, they enthrall my spirit as I walk alone with them--My spirit sad amid the flowers.
In this spot where the herbage is as sweet ointment, and green as the turquoise and emerald, I dream of a song of beauty while the blossoms of beauty are in my hand!
Let us rejoice now, O friends! O children! For the life of the earth-born is not long upon earth.
I now go forth in swiftness--to the sweet songs I go forth--to the flowers of fragrance, O friends! O children!
O hé! I sang aloud, O hé! I rained song blossoms as I sped!
Let us go forth to the four ways! I, the singer, shall find and bring forth the flowers. Let us be glad while we live--hark to my song of joy!
I, the poet, cry out a song for a place of joy--a radiant song which descends to the Underworld, and there turns and echoes back to you!
I seek neither vestments or riches, O friends! O children! but a song for a place of joy!