The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.I have spent many days stringing and unstringing this my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there
is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have
heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passes in spreading his seat on the floor; but the
lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.