Or would I were a little burnish'd apple For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold, While sun and shade your robe of lawn will dapple, Your robe of lawn, and your hair's spun gold.
O seria una poma una mica brunyida Perquè em piquessis, lliscant tan fred, mentre el sol i l'ombra la teva túnica de gespa s'esmorteirà, la teva túnica de gespa i els teus cabells d'or filat.
