Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa.
For whom are now your airs put on,
And what new beauty's doom'd to be undone?
That careless elegance of dress,
This essence that perfumes the wind,
Your ev'ry motion does confess
Some secret conquest is design'd.
Alas! the poor unhappy maid,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem