If only we were twins born on one day
who nursed together at my mother’s breast
then no one would have anything to say
when I, in public view, your face caressed.
Then I would lead you to my mother’s house
and give you fruit to eat and wine to drink.
He holds me close as one cleaves to his spouse.
His arms around my waist he interlinks.
O daughters of Jerusalem, hear well:
Be careful when you rouse love and its fires.
I charge you by the doe and the gazelle:
Stir not up love until it so desires.
“Look, there they come, the lovers, hand in hand,
up from the desert to the fertile land!”
|Shepherdess, Jean-Francois Millet, 1864|