Here, where all friends are sordid
They come in fusillades like rain
They share nothing so splendid
Their songs of serenade are vain.
See the smile of honest pretence
On the faces of guised countenance.
To astray they set a sham path
And encouraged me to traverse.
Let me now be closer to my heart,
It will for no reason be perverse,
And I will in it faithfully confide
For it in me abides and my bosom resides.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well worded poem...nice to read