Cheers George & Mort, glad you enjoyed! 

There is a poem where he is unsuccessfully trying to woo a noble maid and the last lines are:

If I don't win you by mighty everlasting song, 
girl in the full bloom of youth, 
I will win you, my tender–faced girl, 
when no one else wants you. 

Priceless! 

George, do you know Y Ffenstre where he is trying to kiss the girl through a window?  That is so funny.

Dear George, and there I was thinking you a member of The Snorbans Welsh Mediaevel Poetry Society (preferably outdoors if wet)

Y Ffenestre (The Window - note the Welsh word for window which is derived from Norman Latin)  Goodness, I do feel we have our own little Eistedfodd going on.

For those who do not know Dafydd ap Gwilym was one of the foremost Mediaevel Poets, funny, self deprecating, down to earth, obsessed by sex.  And Welsh.

The Window

I walked within leafy enclosures 
(my muttering was a frivolous song) 
by the side of wild tangled lands, 
as I presumed, of the girl's bedchamber.
I was glad to discover (fair valiant maid) 
through the grove's branches for a girl's sake 

 (a powerful love, fierce thief) 

a sturdy window on a piece of oak. 
I sought a kiss (fairest of form) 
 from the girl through the little oak window, 
 she fair jewel - it was wrong of her — 
refused me, she did not want me; 
troublesome was that window of enduring grief, 
where it was placed to let in the sunlight. 

May I not grow old if there was ever, by way of enchantment, 
a window such as this, 
apart from the nature of that window (a couple whose predicament was astonishing) 
in the fort of Caerllion long ago 
through which Melwas, impelled by desire, 
came with none of love's trepidations 
(extreme pain of boundless passion) 
once by the house of Giant Gogfran's daughter. 

Although I could stay a while, when it was snowing, 
on the wrong side of the window from her, 
unlike Melwas I received no reward, 
my only favour, by God, was the wasting of my cheeks. 

If we were, I and my seamstress, fair jewel, 
face to face for nine nights, 
with no generous reward, no starlight, 
no gain between the two pillars, 
as the distress grew ever greater on each side of the whitewashed wall, 
lips to lips, I and my proud slender maid, 
we could not (golden jewel's courage) 
get our two mouths to meet. 
At no time are two mouths 
through a narrow–pillared wooden window  (my grim death [it is]
to be prevented from [realizing my] promise) 
able to kiss since it's so confined. 

No one by a window 
at night between fennel and a row of roses, 
without sleep, has ever known such care as I, 
 in no joyous mood because of a bright pious girl. 

May a devil — that lair of a window —
break its pillars with a blunt tool 
 (sharp edge of wrath), and its broad shutter, 
 and its lock and key entirely, 
and the man (rule of obstruction) 
who made such a row of frustrating pillars; 
may he slay the bright one which hinders my effort, 
and the hand  that sawed it
slay the wicked one which hinders my union, 
it impeded me there where the girl was. 

Back to the strait and narrow with:


                           Nightingales

     Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come,
     And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams wherefrom
                        Ye learn your song:
  Where are those starry woods? O! might I wander there,
     Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air
                        Bloom the year long!

     Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams:
     Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams,
                        A throe of the heart,
  Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,
     No dying cadence, nor long sigh can sound,
                        For all our art.

     Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men
     We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then,
                        As night is withdrawn
  From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of May,
     Dream, while the innumerable choir of day
                        Welcome the dawn.

Glad you like it Madame Pianiste; the poet was Robert Bridges (1844 to 1930).

The Latin phrase means simply that we adhere to absolute objective and inalterable standards of taste and discrimination.

Surely that's an interpretation rather than a translation, Mr Grew;

Odi = I hate, loathe, despise  profanum = secular, uninitiated  vulgus = common people, rabble  et  = and arceo = I keep away, separate, close off.

So, possible translations might include:

I loathe the ignorant masses, and isolate myself from them;
I hate common people with no learning, and keep myself at a distance;
I despise the common herd, and remain aloof.

Mr. Sydney Grew.


I find the idea of emphasizing  the most important words very helpful.

Thank you so much for writing the poem again using such method. 




Respectfully,

T-P

I just have found this poem by Esenin. I didn't know they have such a good translation.


SERGEY ALEKSANDROVICH YESENIN PERSIAN MOTIFS

BLUE AND MERRY LAND...
Translated by Lyuba Coffey

Blue and merry land.
My honor is sold for a song.
Wind from the sea, blow quieter --
Do you hear, the nightingale is calling the rose?

Do you hear the roses bending --
The song will return to the heart.
Wind from the sea, blow quieter --
Do you hear, the nightingale is calling the rose?

You -- a child, there's no argument about it,
And am I not a poet?
Wind from the sea, blow quieter --
Do you hear, the nightingale is calling the rose?

Dear Gelia, forgive me.
There can be many roses on the way,
Many roses bend,
But only one can smile with the heart.

Let's now together. You and I.
For such dear lands.
Wind from the sea, blow quieter --
Do you hear, the nightingale is calling the rose?

Blue and merry land.
Let my whole life be sold for a song,
But for Gelia in branches shade
The nightingale is embracing the rose.

or short-attention span present imperative