The very air that passes through your lips
Those ruby portals wherein my pleasures found
Is pure ambrosia, on which my soul doth sip,
In heated reverie exchanging passions round;
Your very breath inflates my soul with fire
Like angels swelling sails upon the sea
Without such bellows I might expire
And stall in doldrums disconsolate from thee;
I journey forth each day in pilgrimage
To worship at that breath that gives me life,
Your face, your eyes, your cheeks my hermitage
I, doltish captive of a votive wife;
And though the world derides my love with scorn,
I bless the breath that gasped when you were born.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem