If I could see my beloved in the morning's twilight
A nightingale landed on the rose's branch, pulling its membrane
They want to take my coy sweetheart off my hand
This beauty won't remain yours, mine, Oh! now, beloved, now
This beauty won't remain yours, mine, Oh! If you are to come, come now
Sitting in the morning's twilight, she drinks a coffee
In one hand a golden scissor, sewing her beloved a wear
And I settled just for a greeting, and without even greeting, she passes by.
- Racism is not far, it is in everybody's nature. Detect thy fears, thy prejudices, and live in unison with these fears and every being that does not harm thee.