My husband is tall and strong, a hero of our land.
Long spear in hand,
It’s he who leads
The king’s great fighting band.
Since he left me for the East,
My beauty I have not adorned.
Not because I lack perfumes and creams,
But because I am not with him – alone, forlorn.
I long for rain, but am mocked by burning sun;
I miss him so, he who alone can slake my drought struck heart.
Who can give me “forget-anguish” grass to plant beside my house?
Why do I prefer this misery without balm, the ache of a heart alone?