The love you kept still hidden in your eyes,
Will not give sleep tonight, and for nights hence;
Yet heart that oft its dreamless state it cries,
Takes not this deed of angels an offence;
For they don't tread where fools make avenues,
So woe to love, or to this dreamer be,
On trodden path, and paying lovers' dues
By Heaven's gate, yet angels none to see;
The Devil counts each tender loving touch
That lovers had to give the most regard,
That fire they never stoke, and so as such,
Hot notions of love they have to discard;
......Deviling touch or mere angelic stares,
......How best does each to each other compares?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem