Sweet Lesbia,when our love is done,
Leave no reproachful shade or blot,
No least reproof, on all or aught
That made us twain, that made us one.
Say only, love has lived his hour
Blameless as any rose's bloom:
And faultless now his fated doom
As is the dying of the flower.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem