This madrigal is written for a dear friend.
I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
admit, those nights when I saw you,
just you, when summer nights were high;
those nights when just your smallest sigh
ignites in me that passion new;
I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
admit, those nights when I saw you,
and wondering if your passion’d cry
might tell a tale of you more true
than I could pry with gaudy lie;
I’ve dreamt of you more nights than I
admit, those nights when I saw you,
just you, when summer nights were high.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem