Seasons passing,
youth maturing,
still the maiden does not appear.

The music saddens,
day after day,
season after season,
still she does not appear.

Beloved maiden of the gentleman,
Why doth thee grant him his wish?
Your ladyship clearly feels the same.
Can thee not defy thy parents?
Can thee two lovers not run away?

This music thee love plays,
the whisper of the flute,
or the strings of the zither,
pitch itself with pure...