Have you, madam, the touch
Of a lady, true;
Soft, deferent? Then clutch.
And with one snip, so high
Nobly feign to cry.
For in presenting me
Flower-head and stem
To your beloved, would he
Strides up in Love's own name
Not expect the same?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem