My love, caress me only with thine eyes,
And not with hands, so bare, where corn now grows,
Or call to me as of brisk wind that blows,
With thy damp breath which always brings the flies;
Now, pour some Cognac, filled to flowing be,
Or else, just kiss the brim of my wine cup
Before you toast, and fully drink it up,
Oft thou consumes the contents before me,
Then call me from afar with shrill cat calls,
To complement thy sharp and pointed claws,
Which highlights all thine other childish flaws,
That could explain, to some degree, thy falls;
........But mark to Heaven mine love's industry,
........That makes up for her lacking artistry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem