Unto me, no discreet admirer's
Dizzying perfumed read
Was slipped. Which shy table across
Courting's, were both at a loss
Naming, for to plead.
Only this; what, in its intention
To be heard, for a heart
A pleasant trace leaves. That faint echoed!
Lady friend's. From out which 'lunch date' owed
Little to love's art.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem