My eyes gently rest on her beautiful face
And all the follies of the human race
Lay whittled down to the last twig.
It was not in some Divine order,
Some heat of battle sweated
Fortitude that offered respite
From the threat of eternal extinction.
It was in her arms, in embrace of her heart,
That sweet redemption was found, unbounded.
For this, I dutifully bear her Love, and she mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful …, beautiful, dear Pigmalion! In the beginning was the Word.