Red not green, but red two crimson lips.
The future I have told but not like this.
By the English dead,
in kindness shared the clear glass throne.
While our courtship forged from kindness
none forget.
Pure love of love forgets what now is past.
Seeing eyes that hide what they have seen.
O by the love of she, thine eyes look up to see.
Thus I to behold the blinded eye, instead of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem