And with the love of the mother bird shall she embolden him, that his flight may avail.
A woman’s beloved is to her as the roots of the willow,
Long, strong, white roots, bedded lovingly in the dark.
Into the depths of her have gone the roots of his strength and of his pride,
That she may nourish him well and become his fulfilment.
None may tear him from the broad fields where he is planted!
A woman’s beloved is like the sun rising upon the waters, making the dark places light,
And like the morning melody of the pine trees.
Truly, she thinks the roses die joyously
If they are crushed beneath his feet.