The huntress, Diana, in the depths of the wood,
After dealing out blows to many a beast,
Was taking a breather, with her crowned Nymphs at rest.
Where often I'd rested like a fairy to brood
Without thought, when I heard a voice as thin as a sliver
Ask me a question. It said: 'Oh Nymph in a dream,
Why have you not come back to Diana, your Queen? '
And seeing me there without a bow or a quiver
It added; 'Oh friend of mine, why are you found
With your bow and your arrows no longer around? '
I replied to this stranger in more anger than sorrows:
'I have searched in vain but can find no traces
Somebody took them, my bow and arrows
And shot them off in hundreds of places.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem