Suzerain of little shoulders!
Pacify the dangerous headstrong male
tonight conduct yourself decently
you must stop all this teasing!
whispers back, flaying words
showing white knuckles
with the end of long braids
plunging down her chest.
Why like a janissary, do I prize
that swiftly reddening, tiny, piteous
crescent of your lips?
Don’t be cross, my love,
I’ll gladly be sewn into a sack …
Lips grazing your ear, cast into the sea
Oh, I shouldn’t mind drowning for love
like that Count of Monte Cristo.
Standing at a hard threshold.
Go, Go, I say! —
Yet, come, stay awhile
Come, be as true a lover as my muse
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem