I'll no more go roaming, no more seeking,
No more crushing goosefoot in the wood.
With those oatsheaf locks you tossed when speaking
You have vanished from my dreams for good.
With red berry juice on fair skin glowing,
Beautiful and gentle, you were like
Pink skies when the sun to rest is going
And, like new snow, you were sparkling bright.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem