It seems this life, after all
And its basket's fill of
Trinkets and treats, pried
To lavish us with, spoil, must
First be denied.
Painful truth, heart learned, when you
Through girlish love, approached.
Unkissed, turned off by!
Not fate-ready? Ah! For whose cause
Alone was shy!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem