WHY does my Anna toss her head,
And look so scornfully around,
As if she scarcely deign'd to tread
Upon the daisy-dappled ground?
Does fancied beauty fire thine eye,
The brilliant tint, the satin skin?
Does the loved glass, in passing by,
Reflect a graceful form and thin?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem