Thousand thousand miles away, O’ hotty,
You liv’th in Nytva’s land fold;
Why do hide silvery beauty
Inside cruel cloth’s fold.
Cries the body “strangle me not
With cloth’ O’ maid, sweet and suave,
All with time do fade and rot,
Whatever flourish within this Earth’s curve.”
So why do inflict on yourself so much anguish,
If you know this truth universal,
Or being a self-tyrant is in your wish
And this act of yours is not worth-appraisal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem