I claim not to be a true lover,
For I would not fetch down galaxies,
The planets or the heavenly moon,
From the sky to lay at your feet,
Neither would I build a house,
Of shining gold nor glaring glass,
Nor die down into the icy river,
As despised, dejected lovers do.
Though I have fragile fragments,
Of the broken heart to scatter,
Under your feet to tread upon,
To greet you in front of my cottage,
Yet I know wealth and gold,
Would avert your face to light,
The palace across my dwelling,
Leaving behind darkness and pangs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem