A Garland of Peacock Feathers

	One morning, it was a desirable dawn,

	I happened upon a girl,

	my mind set on love, true artistry,

4	at the brow of a wood weaving a verse.

	I asked my girl of my own age

	to braid a branch from among the trees

	in handsome horns, in a glorious crown

8	as a garland for me, fresh and bright.

	Let it be a band of love, if it were faultless,

	and the girl answered her poet:

	"Your voice is pure, your speech unhindered,

12	did you not know, proclamation of a peacock,

	that it is a shame, it would be dismal,

	to strip a birch in remote places?

	There are not on birches, it is unheard of,

16	leaves it would be fitting to take.

	I will not weave branches,

	it's not right to take leaves from the grove."

	She gave me in abundance

20	the gift that I will keep forever —

	a garland as good as a golden veil

	of peacock plumes to squeeze the head.

	The front of a crown of fine linen,

24	beautiful blooms of fine shimmering feathers.

	Handsome weave of shining branches,

	butterflies, jewel of leaves.

	Regal workmanship, it was a fine feat,

28	constellations, spirals like wild pansies,

	gadfly lanterns, men's eyes of the wind,

	shaped like moons are they.

	It will be good to have, it will certainly not disappear,

32	the mirrors from Virgil's merchandise.

	I know of long lasting grace, a pretty girl gave this,

	a garland for her poet of strong words.

	Its folding was a shining praiseworthy feat,

36	and its plaiting was of plumes and feathers.

	A slender girl's love-gift to her gentle poet,

	God put on this, handsome rows,

	every ornamentation and exquisite language in fine gold,

40	every colour as on a golden mantle.