“Let’s seize foxes that destroy
vineyards, ” say the ripe young maids,
each one anxious to enjoy
boys they call in serenades.
After grazing among lilies,
when the shadows tend to flee,
loving maidens turn like fillies,
on the mountain fancy free,
but at nighttime they start pining
for the lover they can’t find.
“Is he dining now or wining? ”
is the question in their mind.
Round the city they all wander,
watchmen try to look away,
till the one of whom they’re fonder
far more than the king can say
lets them catch him, and then take him
to the house of their conceiver;
he must stay there, for they’ll make him,
Adam sleeping next to Eva.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.