You think that love, though separate, can sing
Itself a special pleasure born of two,
Or mediate what's old to get what's new,
Or hear joy shout amid love's whispering;
But this is not the way love thrives and grows.
Like plants, which grow in rain, the sun above,
We need to share a goodwill which allows
Us match through care the honesty of those
Whose taking is in giving, is of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem