The dolichos grows and covers the thorn, br O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping. br The man of my heart is away and I mourn-- br What home have I, lonely and weeping? br br Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows, br The graves many dragon-plants cover; br But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose? br No home have I, having no lover! br br Fair to see was the pillow of horn, br And fair the bed-chamber's adorning; br But the man of my heart is not here, and I mourn br All alone, and wait for the morning. br br While the long days of summer pass over my head, br And long winter nights leave their traces, br I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled, br And then I shall meet his embraces.