I wish – it was her prints –
On my crystal face; forever she sings,
And I’ve if its no more in him,
Of sadism, of leniency of a single night.
How was her bright; painted-
In a restless bustle of heart,
But never be wrong, if I were,
Some partiality, and some pain of forlorn.
Forgotten – all,
Above her rules,
to hues and to her applause
the bottom to all her lilt and briefly-veil
under the woods; where was thaw heaven.
Wish – wish was the worth of the futile-
That would ever leave the lagged shadow,
Stopped con the point to unhurt harmony,
That would ever leave the lagged Shadow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem