I am a fountain, ever clear, ever full, Spilling love into the barren hands of those who pass. Freely I pour, asking naught, hoping only — That some soul, seeing such giving, might kneel and drink deep. Yet they — they lift but a glass to me, A single, guarded sip, and call it love. Small, measured, fearful — as if love were scarce, As if the heart were a store to be bartered and saved. But I — I was born to flood, To soak the earth, to carve valleys with the force of my feeling. And what is a single glass to me? A paltry thing, a hollow offering. I will not be parched at another's cautious table. I will not shrink my river to fit their trembling cup. Let them go with their miser’s heart — For somewhere, surely, another fountain waits for me. Ben bir çeşmeyim; durmaksızın berrak, durmaksızın dolu, Sevdamı boş ellere döken bir kaynak. Özgürce akıtırım, hiçbir karşılık beklemeden, yalnızca umarak — Bir gün, bir ruh çıkar da diz çöker, kana kana içer diye. Oysa onl...