The vineyards were golden,
Foxes with their exhausted young
Were descending from the mountains
At the end of the harvest,
At the time of year when the sun
Retreats from such places (as mothers
Who have sung and danced retreat from earth),
At the time I left for Fjokat.
Tall and with embroidered cuffs
And braided hair
Bound in a white ribbon,
There was a maiden at the fountain,
Pensive her brow,
Her scarf tied to a blue sash
Extending to the ground.
The moment she sensed my presence
She turned towards me,
Elegant and graceful,
Trembling with joy.
The lad: 'Will you give me a dropp of your water, maiden?'
The maid: 'As much as you wish, sir.'
'Whose daughter are you, maiden?'
'Are you not from here?'
When as a lad I left home
For Salonika, there were no maidens
In the village with such charm.'
Lifting her jug
She said blushingly:
'I am the daughter of Kollogre'
And departed, her head uncovered.
Though she took that path,
The thorns that covered it
Did not scratch her,
For I held them back
With my bleeding arms.
We seemed on that evening
Like two radiant lips
In a moment of ecstasy.