I feel a peel of love
when my guess could not prove
throbbling as sublime of hidden treasure
nimbly clean and pure
all my sense could not tell
than grope in the dark of some cast-spell
oh love, you who kills
none talks of your ills
with gustoric heart, i must die
let the infinisimal wheel of your chariot lie
under the zestful bossom of my joy
then shall i impress on you the strength of a boy
all love that have last
had been from the course of the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem