'Balm my blister'd heart with your Gilead kiss
Spikenard maiden of my barbarian dream,
Render my b'numb mind in a philia-bliss
Petite maid, with love of a weaver's beam!
Hear the soprano of your love tolling
My name into your fortified embrace;
Old foes are murm'ring, eyeballs are rolling
Three-Sixty Degrees to review my face.
Of th' rarest love, the rarest platinum
You are rank'd and pric'd to the highest bid
What can a wretch as I, save per annum
To compare with sons of Midas, amid.
'Tis certain, gold bullions for your bride price
This our love is shortliv'd, a game of dice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem