How joyless I sit,
While for nothing I'm fit,
A part from the kindest of men!
When my babes lie asleep,
My lone vigils I keep,
Killing time with a book or a pen.
When DAMON is near,
He wipes off sorrow's tear--
But all friendless am I when he's gone!
I pensive must move
With the babes of our love,
Without whom I should still be alone.
Blow briskly, ye gales!
Swell proudly the sails,
And waft him again to his home,
For ne'er in my cell
Can happiness dwell,
Nor can pleasure smile here, till he come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem