How many a time I ere my heart did mourn?
I wake each day with not a single beat,
And walk this earth—alas—but incomplete;
I strangers use to emptiness adorn;
But then I woke one unforeseen warm morn,
And found you there yet radiating heat:
Which made my coldness—why! —denote defeat;
Oh, e'en the Sun at times leaves one forlorn!
I hate the heat and truly love the cold:
And so with you I'm all out of my way,
But this does not a tiny spark ignite!
Alight, aflame, Heartbreak won't you behold?
Perchance I am the one to blame today,
What if tomorrow you're still out of sight?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem