My song has put off her adornments.
 She has no pride of dress and decoration.
 Ornaments would mar our union;
 they would come between thee and me;
 their jingling would drown thy whispers.

My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight.
 O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet.
 Only let me make my life simple and straight,
 like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

NOTE: This poem is sometimes titled, “My song has put off her adornments,” or – simply – Song VII.