Putting it to proper use
No beamy stings
Have to be imagined - less
Cold-barbed rainings!
Just clasping so, svelte-handed,
At angles coy
For demure playacting, in
Quaint show's employ...
I'll no more keep silent in
Each petalled twirl
For what of its beauty, frail
Shows you up, girl!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem