It was just the shadow of love,
the shadow of love: that could not be.
Already another ache departs
already another woman has come and gone
another woman.
Her breast were not my pillow,
Nor her hands my guides
to this sad road; to death.
Nor were our hours together
my bitter consolation;
nor her fountainhead
that quenched my thirst
neither were her healthy roots,
where I was entangled,
that gave me seeds
to blossom within.
The shadow of love,
Only a dream of love: that could not be.
Already another ache has ended
another pain departed
another woman has come and gone
another woman has arrived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem