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Whose cheek is this?
What rosy face
Has lost a blush today?
I found her—"pleiad"—in the woods
And bore her safe away.
Robins, in the tradition
Did cover such with leaves,
But which the cheek—
And which the pall
My scrutiny deceives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautifully conceived short and sweet poem with smooth flow and rich in rhyme and rhythm.