When I talk with other women.
Thinking, I think but of you.
Your words are sharper of witt than theirs is poor world,
And as they gather are once gentler, too.
When I even glace at other women.
Wishing, I wish your face were theirs.
With gray skies and white skin
And tossed back hair.
When I think of other women.
Walking, I long, looking bye.
Alone by my each single every day.
Never coming to me, you by night.
The thought of you strong is the wind.
Blows the dream right out of my head.
Like a ship lost at sea floats away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem