WITH sapphire for her crown,
And with the Libyan wine
For lustre of her eyes;
With azure on her feet
As though she trod the skies;
Then iris for her vest,
Rose, ebony, and flame
(The bird that Camoens
Won for his golden lay),
She lives a thing enthralled.
In forests that are old,
As old as is the Moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem