The King spoke in his pride
Of the men despising
He’s every lordly stride
Upon this day of rising
Neither here nor there nor everywhere
Lies the loyal lordly heart
With his reign and country there
He does not wish or want to part
But three daughters does he have
One loves him but he not her
Two long to see him in his grave
And strip him of his right incurred
The one to France has love enough
To help her father in his strife
Two at home have love enough
To drain him of his loved life
Wicked storms blew in the night
Two daughters merge all their scorn
The old King still tries to fight
Until it ends in the mourning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem