O sweet love of wonderous groom
Thou art fain as roses bloom
Scent me o, thy lilac boom
That which hence art ever loom.
I love her, I ver'ly so
Rare her form of sourly taste
From plume of wild roses state
This night shall blend her I know.
Faint kisses shall lend their scent
Roses fume shall heist the room
Which only hath ever toom
Where-in they shall nest their tent.
For my love shall love her still
Such root do wounded figs till
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem