Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Loves,
And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful women,
But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,
And soar in a song to my own lady friend.
A sweet friend, who is dearer, I ween,
Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.
When speaking of her I can't work on my prose,
For she is the sweet lady who makes me smile.
Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem