Mine are not the eyes to see by her light;
Mine are not the lips to rest on her own.
Nor mine the hands, to stroke those wings of white-
I am not worthy to kneel at her throne.
I could not- and would not- and dare not- act;
I dare not seek the love of her glory.
It is not fear, but my honour, and tact
That insists upon this love-life's story-
My love is lived with prayers and dreams;
Equally, my love does not have life-
But dead love in heaven, where virtue teems
Is better than love wasted in earthly strife.
I am not worthy to love her; therefore
I love her from afar- and all the more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem