Don't lour upon this poor soul, whistling music
and showering lines so sweet on you, my queen!
The rains of melody are not of wanton efforts
but an urge or the heavenly surge in my heart.
The words are not coined in this dull brain
but awards to you from the beauteous heaven,
through this mad man, made to wade through
the realms of fancy in occasional frenzy.
Don't be sad dear for these flurry of praises
heaped on you by this unreined flighting mind.
A brief spell of music wrought in my heavenly soul
falls on you in drizzles of lovely rhymes.
Long live, long live my lusty angel of peace and bliss
In my harmless hymns which to read, you do
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem