I dare not ask a hat,
or beret of French style,
lest having this or that
I might go bald the while.
No, no, the utmost hair
beyond compare’s care, see,
each root I’d miss, despair,
accursèd calvity!
To Electra
I dare not ask a kiss,
I dare not beg a smile;
lest having that or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
of my desire shall be
only to kiss that Air
that lately kissèd thee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem