I'm writing comedy again,
The daintiest pleasure known to men;
Unless a daintier might be
To watch your acted comedy:
The airy ladies gaily dressed,
And much adored, and much caressed,
The men who swagger like game cocks,
Or undermine, like cunning fox,
And over all these shaken free
The spangled gleam of repartee—
No keener joy awaits us here.
And yet each day I write with fear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Comedy is the light-hearted glitter and charm of a play or novel and also I believe the most difficult to write with the proper light and airy touch. Bravo for those who can!