My loves dies with me when I die;
Her image fades as does my eye;
I, her painter, her life recorder,
Who chronicled her sins in order;
She dies with me with my last breath,
Her mortal memory laid to rest.
I burn my books of poetry
That gave her name eternity;
Thus in life, as she deprived,
In my death, she is denied
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sad it's so and not otherwise.