Oh, is there not one fellow here,
whose homely purse and lack of direction,
have caused all hope to disappear
of ever winning woman's affection?
The foolish festival of love draws near
bringing with it the hope and wish
that someone dear thinks you're a dish,
that love's red dart will hit that heart,
and blazing love will have its start.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem