The Beggar's Son Who Loved a Prince

I heard that once a beggar's son had set his eyes upon a prince. He went about nursing a hopeless passion, biting his lip against his own longing. He was never absent from the prince's field, standing beside his horse all day like a great pillar. His heart bled and the secret stayed locked inside, yet his feet, from all his weeping, stuck in the mud. His rivals learned of his suffering and told him again: do not linger here. He left for a moment, but the beloved's face came back to mind, so he pitched his tent again at the door of that street. A servant broke his head, his hands, his legs: didn't we tell you not to hang around here? He walked away, but had no patience, no peace; he could not endure being far from his beloved's face. Like a fly, they cruelly drove him from the sweetness, and at once he came flying back. Someone said: you reckless, half-mad man, what strange patience you have for these blows of stick and stone! He said: this cruelty falls on me from his hand, and it's no fair thing to complain of a friend's hand. Here I am, still declaring my devotion, whether he loves me or counts me an enemy. Don't expect me to bear being without him, when even with him I can find no rest. I have no strength to endure, no ground to fight, no way to stay, no legs to flee. Don't tell me to turn my head from this royal door, even if he drives my head into a noose like a nail. Isn't the moth that gives its life at the beloved's feet better off than one alive in a dark corner without him? The man said: what if he strikes you with his polo mallet? He answered: then I'll fall at his feet like the ball. He said: what if he cuts off your head with his sword? He said: even that I would not grudge him. I am hardly even aware of my own head, whether a crown sits on it or an axe. Do not scold me for being impatient, for in love no patience can take shape. Like Jacob, even if my eyes turn white with grief, I will not give up hope of seeing my Joseph. One whose heart is happy with another does not take offense at every little thing. One day the young man kissed the prince's stirrup; the prince flared up and pulled his reins away. The youth laughed and said: don't turn your reins away, for a king does not turn away from a nobody. With you existing, no existence is left for me; remembering you, no self-worship remains in me. If you see a fault in me, don't blame me: you are the one who has risen up out of my very collar. I dared lay my hand on your stirrup only because I no longer count myself as anything. I drew a line through my own name; I set my foot upon my own desire. The arrow of those intoxicating eyes already kills me: what need to raise your hand to the sword? Just set the reeds on fire and pass on by, for neither the dry nor the green stalk will be left in the thicket.