My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim,
She wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides:
And showed such pride as, while her luck betides,
A sultan's favoured slave may show to him.
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Good one, Enjoyable The lamp resigned its dying flame. Within, The hearth alone lit up the darkened air, And every time it sighed a crimson flare It drowned in blood that amber-coloured skin.
Like evil angels rose, my fancy twitting, To kill the peace which over me she'd thrown, Always a poet anywhere on surface or in air just waiting to ignite himself with such thrust of passion. Beautiful force of writing cool and submissive poetry.
Is it too much to ask for adding the name of the person who translated that poem from the French into English, namely 'Roy Campell'? ! Reference: The Penguin Book of Love Poetry, pp.170/171 Thank you!