What fragile bauble
is my heart.
So freely given and,
so quickly, broken apart.
And every time that it,
in vexations state,
is gathered together
with minute care, complete.
Then pledge on solemn
oath do swear.
That never more should I,
to suffer this care.
Oh how time does make
mockery of will,
and with the passage,
of it thrill.
When fancy new
pleases the eye.
And shapely calf
doth wander by.
But oh what fools
we do make,
of most ourselves,
for romances sake.
But did not he
with genius call.
Say, better to have loved and lost,
then never loved at all?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem