Many a night I ask the stars on high,
For whom a sylph aloft like thee would fall.
They neither crawl away nor draw on nigh,
Seeming not care to heed my plea at all.
Yet I would not dispense with them tonight,
For fear of missing any signs they give.
Ev'n though my hope looks fainter than their light,
I’d still believe, if it’s but just reprieve;
Even though thou mayst never answer me,
I’d wait for thee as long as I’m to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem