I
Silk yarn of stone entangled by remembrance
Your beauty swept me London's streets in shy romance.
Afraid I feared my words might trouble your serenity;
and nevermore would I behold or claim a perfect chance
to walk aside you unashamed in loving circumstance.
Much loving we have missed, then lost forbiddingly
Nor known true pleasure ‘til affixed by lips courageously.
What rare inviting fruit of higher light adorns my glance?
As waking eyes foresee new things of magic quietly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem