A Lover's Lament

O wood of woe and grief
And fair flowered trees that hence
Ne'er shall go,
Ye would wither, flower and leaf,
Were human thought and sense
Yours to know.

Since departed now is she,
Who my bitterness can raise
To a throne,
You in sympathy for me
Would stand bare for all your days,
Leafless grown.
Translation: 
Language: 
Author of original: 
Gil Vicente
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.