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Bid me and I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe.For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a plaintive shepherd's pipe inthe shade.Bid me and I shall set sail on the river.The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into murmurs.The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening the call comes from yourhouse on the shore in the sunset.My life when young was like a flower-a flower that loosens a petal or two from herabundance and never feels the loss when the spring breeze comes to beg at her door.Now at the end of youth my life is like a fruit, having nothing to spare, and waiting tooffer herself completely with her full burden of sweetness.