I touched her hand and she was gone.
The moment left as fast it came,
And I am certain I will never love again.
She called herself my Emiline.
O, how I hoped she could be mine,
But all is lost and I shall ever lose, nor win-
No hand to hold, no love to share,
My perfect Emiline not there-
Farewell sad world. Farewell, and do not bid me stay.
Breathe this the last of decent air.
Breathe all for me, if breath you dare,
Where joy is borrowed without leave on sun-filled day.
She held my heart, as would a dove,
Held gentle fingers round my love,
But only memories hold onto fading joy,
Where whispers soft and whispers deep
Brought tenderest longings full and sweet;
And now, this mortal man cannot endure death's coy.
Damn setting suns! Damn rising moons!
Damn each bright star that made her swoon!
Damn one and all, though senseless damning holds no sway
On fickle love or fainting heart.
How she has ripped my life apart,
While all the world sings lullabies too sad for song.
And 'they' will say I'm better when
My heart has found another. Then,
They'll scream: O my, can you believe he did her wrong?
But naught can touch this heart of mine-
Their words, their screams. O Emiline,
My heart will stand no more of this wan, loveless day.
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I would like to translate this poem