I past natures, the scenting woods,
Roaring numbers my love fonds,
And arted the air of natures bonds,
Played the incense of childhoods.
What creature can assume airs-
Who one beats my nifty pains,
I sung cocktails, to the nears,
And sold lays to the credible sanes.
Beholded, till walked a windbreak toy,
Oh, what my stammered drum!
And caught a fleeced joy,
But got, a gtrouch in sum.
When i heard the plainitive duets,
Sung and loved by the angelic hearts,
Philomils they are, , one gets.
Mulcet my songs, at their sorts.
Mine melancholy, theirs' mellows,
They won for natures' deeds,
Over my thoughtless yellows,
True love they sang, and mine creeds.
Then i gently passed through,
Myself, plights, and my airs.
Aren't too good to move,
From depressed mulch to the nears'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem