Meandering on every land and each sea,
Around the wide world I went hoping
Glory of love I would come upon;
None I found ‘til no more place to go,
On wearied legs I retraced my trail;
Lying morose in bed, felled by ennui,
I saw at last sans doubt’s iota
All I sought lies deep in your bosom.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem