Come my love, come to me.
Let us embrace as the stars ascend
Over the sea where the billows bend.
Come my love - whose love has no end.
The perfumed breeze
Through the tall, swaying oaks
Gilds our needs
As it wavers through the reeds
Sighing as it cloaks
Our eternal ardor; its glittering gold
Gleams like ethereal treasures of old.
And the orphic gloom
Meets its demise
As diadems bloom
In your dusky eyes.
Praising the angels of lavender skies,
You resemble a queen in the grace of your gaze
Of sanctified, innocent, feminine ways.
John Lars Zwerenz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem