Could I be sure that I should die
The moment you had ceased to love me,
I would not turn so fearfully
From those fond vows with which you move me.
Could I be sure, when passion's light
Had faded from your eyes away,
My own would close in endless night,
I would not shun their dangerous ray.
'Tis not your tenderness I dread,
But that affection's drear decay;
Would fate indulgent strike me dead
When its first glow of warmth was fled—
I'd live and love you till that day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem