Here, sapped in strength,
With a song never penned,
To thy bosom, now I fade;
Lines, all lost of warmth.
Longed, ecstatic in thy praise,
To be the most romantic of the sort,
And to build in thy hues a paradise
For those hearts most hurt.
Will thou never be reached?
Or in a life after, will I get to breathe?
For this life has blocked thy scent,
Breaths pained deep in depth.
Blur the sight, once endeared,
Wither a vision, even more entreated.
To yield softly to fate's bidding,
Or to yearn back with a burning?
But thy colors, still warm and fresh,
Set the passion ablaze again.
Lastly, to quote the lines out of the blue,
With a heart paling to dark:
'Take this not from me; all that's left,
This warm imprint.
Shaken, though to the core, still,
Hark to thy song, soothingly calm.
What hues to hold on to? What melodies to hear?
To my heart's keen content, thou has ever been.
For a word, thou never kept here,
I travel to a world afar...'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem