TO turn my volumes o’er nor find
(Sweet unsuspicious friend!)
Some vestige of an erring mind
To chide or discommend,
Believe that all were lov’d like you
With love from blame exempt,
Believe that all my griefs were true
And all my joys but dreamt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Believe that all were lov’d like you With love from blame exempt, Believe that all my griefs were true And all my joys but dreamt... Griefs, joy and love. tony