Woman, before he comes
And still, ripe and wholesome, be spoke of
Tumble not like these plums
Too late, mouth-watering, to savour.
Girl, til that my coming
And you, even still, fair as fresh be sworn
Tear not like these blossoms
Past their sense-intoxicating hour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well composed piece....10+++