The poem
World was in the face of the beloved--, but suddenly it poured out and was gone: world is outside, world can not be grasped.
Why didn't I, from the full, beloved face as I raised it to my lips, why didn't I drink world, so near that I couldn't almost taste it?
Ah, I drank. Insatiably I drank. But I was filled up also, with too much world, and, drinking, I myself ran over.