By John Keats
Had I A Man's Fair Form, then Might My SighsBe Echoed Swiftly Through That Ivory Shell
Thine Ear, and Find Thy Gentle Heart; So Well
Would Passion Arm Me ForThe Enterprize:
But Ah! I Am No Knight Whose Foeman Dies;
No Cuirass Glistens On My Bosom's Swell;
I Am No Happy Shepherd Of The Dell
Whose Lips Have Trembled With A Maiden's Eyes.
Yet Must I Dote Upon Thee, - Call Thee Sweet, Sweeter By Far Than Hybla's Honied Roses
When Steep'd In Dew Rich To Intoxication.
Ah! I Will Taste That Dew, for Me 'tis Meet,
And When The Moon Her Pallid Face Discloses,
I'll Gather Some By Spells, and Incantation.
To--------
Interpreter: Busy
If my appearance is brilliant, my sigh gently
With respect to meeting dispatch fast had swung carapace of Na Linglong jade---
Your ear, the heart you finds;
Adventure goes before all invigorating me enthusiasticly quite:
But regrettablly I am not inapproachable knight,
Be in without what armature sparkles my prothorax,
I also am not the happy cowboy in hill,
The eye that can make a lip female to herd is licentious.
However I still must love you, say you are sweet,
Because you are sweet,cross Xibula's rose
When it infiltration is in the dew of intoxicate.
Alas! But I close only sample that dew drips,
Wait for a moon to show a face, dark blue is white and gaunt,
I will collect dew by abracadabra.
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