As shy as a moony night,
Mounting fantasies to great height,
Scents and stains of real pains,
Strange feelings of no gains,
Life without lover is dull,
All done, remains still null,
Not even a glance of real love,
Obliviously, agonies of weeping love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love, love, love, the way you used it here. You defined it really well. GREAT JOB! ! !