Sorrow, o my love,
take me into your arms.
Dip me down into your
icy-cold lap.
Let your alchemy work
on my tears;
and change them into pearls
that I may wreathe
a wonderful wreath
for your emaciated neck.
Matchless gift
O love
how kind you are!
Brought me
the new-moon
a pall of gloom
a sea of silence
and set me in a tomb
where I lie not as a mute agony
but as a loud verse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem