I love you, dear, o' morn and moon.
I love your ev'ry mood and guise;
But, neath the soft, enchanting moon,
Such loveliness the gods must prize.
'Tis then I long to dare and fight
The world for you, my queen o' night.
We wander in a jewelled bower;
And, tho' I be your humble slave,
Within that brief, enchanted hour
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem