At break of eve within the dusky reeds
Frivols with easy calm a sound solitaire,
An oft-repeated croak through the startled air,
The say of a heart that for love it bleeds,
Querulous perhaps of ardor that exceeds,
The hot midsummer night perfumed and fair,
But growing with the burden of despair,
As seems, solely the dreaming moon it heeds.
So, being saddened he desires to evince,
It is not the mingling of folly want
But the kindling of unquiet love, long since
Wildly flashing eyes teasingly did flaunt,
And captivated him with memories that haunt,
Leaving in him the wish of being her prince.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem