my sweet, sweet love
he has called many times and yet,
for fear and family restraint, I have not gone;
my sweet lover,
he sends me whispers and notes that
he will meet me by the lake
where the lonely paths of fine sand meet;
and there by the green lake
is the cool mango grove
and he shall wait, leaning against the tallest tree;
ah, when he calls again and again,
as his life depends on seeing me,
as my own on seeing him,
how can I say No?
though maid or sister will not come to accompany me
still I shall go, trusting in love and the doves and the deer
that shall bring me to my sweet, sweet love
who waits patiently…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem