Ето ви. Ще се надявам на оценката ви. Не е мое, но е нещо, което харесвам. Призовавам Медовинка към превод най-официално.

Love at the  lips was touch
As sweet  as I could bear;
And once  that seemed  too  much;
I  lived  on air

That crossed me from  sweet  things,
The  flow of  - was  it musk
From  hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?

I  had the swirl and ache
From  sprays  of  honeysuckle
That when they re gathered shake
Dew on  the  knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but  those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that  stung.

Now no joy but  lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness  and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The  sweet  of  bitter  bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on  it hard
In  grass  and sand

The hurt is not enough:
I long for  weight and strength
To feel the  earth as  rough
To  all  my length.