O You who filled my glass with wine galore
From Nature’s own winestore,
See to it that my glass is melted by
This fire sent from Your sky.
O let my spirited lament provide
Love with its wealth of pride.
Would that the dust of my Sinai became
An all-consuming flame.
When I die, let my ashes form a bed
Where tulips will be bred,
So that my Passion’s wounds, revived, may shine
In tulips’ hearts again.