My heart is lame with running after yours so fast
Such a long way,
Shall we walk slowly home, looking at all the things we passed
Home down the quiet evening roads under the quiet skies,
Not saying much,
You for a moment giving me your eyes
When you could bear my touch.
But not to-morrow. This has taken all my breath;
Then, though you look the same,
There may be something lovelier in Love's face in death
As your heart sees it, running back the way we came;
My heart is lame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem