Who is this woman that I love dearly?
She is more lovely than a flower;
Yes, I see her and yearn for her deeply;
Oh! The pain of our separation this hour!
My heart longs for you, yet I'm opposed;
A conflagration stirs in this psyche.
A clear truth before me is imposed
And renders my ordered thoughts untidy.
To the world of sensuality, you belong
Which blocks the stream of my passion.
A harlot you seem as men have sung;
Men you have ensnared, your own congregation.
A Pharisee I may be as I think this;
Let us hope love makes this thought amiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem