DARK Lily without blame,
Not upon us the shame,
Whose sires were to the Auld Alliance true;
They, by the Maiden’s side,
Victorious fought and died;
One stood by thee that fiery torment through,
Till the White Dove from thy pure lips had passed,
And thou wert with thine own St. Catherine at the last.
Once only didst thou see,
In artist’s imagery,
Thine own face painted, and that precious thing
Was in an Archer’s hand
From the leal Northern land.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem Once only didst thou see, In artist’s imagery, Thine own face painted, and that precious thing Was in an Archer’s hand From the leal Northern land.