As I rest in the shadows of the valley of lust
there's a sound and a trickle of fruit of the loom,
having wandered all day and all night, I now must
drink my fill of her nectar as a passionate groom,
neither senses nor reason can say Halt to my tongue
there is need and a sudden deluge
if they come to arrest, I will surely be hung
left behind me my sweet centrifuge.
Oh ye Gods let me feast on the brook near the well
I shall give of my own all the same
as I aim for the fruit, listen up, Wilhelm Tell
can you hear as I call her sweet name?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem