had i but known in time,
what sorrow from love doth spring:
what torment the soul be made to endure
in the the name of that capricious maiden:
how,
like an unchecked malignancy,
it grows and festers
until every nerve cries out in bittersweet remorse...
had i but known in time
that love is naught but pain,
still nothing
would i now have want to change.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem