When, in happy with fortune and men's love,
I all alone make my new poems so quick,
and feeling wander heaven with my teardrops,
and look upon myself, and cries my fate,
wishing me like to one more hopeless,
feature like him, like him with lost love,
desiring this poetry' art and that man's love,
with what I most enjoy most of my spare times;
yet in these thoughts myself almost burned,
happy I think of thee—and then my well beings,
like the leafless at fall of day arising.
From the earth, sings the love poem at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered me forever
That then I am to love to be the lover
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very very nice. Unless emotion is lit the heart sleeps. When enveloped by fire of love will there be love to be the lover. Poetry for you. Love it.