There is none like my Immortal,
A picture to my legit verse,
That I want to claim youth again,
But then I have lost you.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose piercing eyes make him younger,
As though they are a youth of their own,
As though they still have my love.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose smile brings white snow,
Whose chest fuels me,
Whose lips are my love.

There is none like my Immortal,
There is none as weird and charming,
That my brief love sounds too awkward
That it would not stay for long.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose playful mind stays through the night
Bearing soft torch lights within it;
And in him is the soul of a rose.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who once grasped and gasped with me,
With whirling air so mindful to see,
Who awakened my merit of love.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose mirth enabled me to see,
Excite the verses of my own poetry,
Incite every vein of my love.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who stood by my everlasting rain,
That all was but a filth of joy,
A naïve run across the downpour.

There is none like my Immortal,
Rich in his own myriad of love,
And the thoughtful kiss he has,
None has the warmth of his arms.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who jumps and plays under the sun,
All is fun for the whole world to see,
All is love to him, love is free.

There is none like my Immortal,
None has his sweet breath, and see—
None has his verse here with me,
None has his excited bold voice.

There is none like my Immortal,
None has his weight and air of truth,
That all that is not love shall love,  
That all that was sunlight is rain.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who loved me in snow and rain,
Who startled and awoke me again,
Who reminded me of my love.

There is none like my Immortal,
None resembles his mythical words,
That I forgot all our mortal homes
Thinking of his sweet love alone.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose cheeks have archaic colours,
Whose bashful smile is but as sweet
My heart’s darling, my living love.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose presence was a true mirage,
And who can see that cordial visage
But with the heat of a surging love?

There is none like my Immortal,
Whom I love presently and sweetly,
Whose sins I shall not come to resent,
Whose sordid love is ever present.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whom I love deeply and severely,
Who saluted me with a smile so shy
With a feeling so vivid and high.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who was so mild as morning dew,
Who greeted the quiet snow wildly
With a love so thoughtful and true.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whom I love calmly and serenely
Who charmed me with such faithful songs
With promises so fervent and long.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who enthralled me by the night shade,
Who stunned me as handsome and fair,
Who shook my love at first sight.

There is none like my Immortal,
The tunes of love to my foreign ode,
The loving feeling that might explode,
The living life that shan’t fade,

There is none like my Immortal,
A loving soul to my being,
A frenetic chain to my mind,
A delight to my unseen rain.

There is none like my Immortal,
A playful gift to my foreign days,
A darling light to my gloom,
An inspired joy to my poem.

There is none like my Immortal,
The ragged charm that charmed me,
The sweet heart that tempted me,
The owner of my love.

There is none like my Immortal,
The stellar voice in the winds,
The thought that shan’t fade,
The ****** love of my flesh.

There is none like my Immortal,
The splendid son of the sun,
The prince from the Slavic land,
The promise of the moon.

There is none like my Immortal,
The raw sight of the night,
The shade in warm sunlight,
The poem that sounded right.

There is none like my Immortal,
Who made my heart beat fast,
Whom I dreamed of once,
Whom I dream of once more.

There is none like my Immortal,
The king of all excited verses,
All that exceeds the Nordic youth,
All that surrounds my Eastern love.

There is none like my Immortal,
More handsome than fall foliage,
More youthful than all age,
Brighter than the Northern Light.

There is none like my Immortal,
Cleverer than chaste winters,
Smart on the rough days,
The right to my wrong.

There is none like my Immortal,
A smile on my cheek,
The star to the moon,
The snow to his own sun.

There is none like my Immortal,
Alive on such happy days,
A reason that I believed,
A love that was mine.

There is none like my Immortal,
Watery like wintry snow,
Shiny as its glow,
Brighter than tomorrow.

There is none like my Immortal,
Roseate in his smile,
Faint in his grief,
Melancholy in his words.

There is none like my Immortal,
Flushed were his cheeks,
Blood in his veins,
Mild in his songs.

There is none like my Immortal,
Confused in his own wit,
Sweet in his dreams,
Light in his silence.

There is none like my Immortal,
Godly in his godlessness,
Important in his universe,
Precious in my verses.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whiter than the last snowstorms,
Sharper than their shadows,
Freer than their spirits.

There is none like my Immortal,
Glorious in his mad ways,
Charming through the night and days,
Subtle in his silent thoughts.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose poetry entertains mine,
And who shall say about his narrative,
But that such melodies shall live?

There is none like my Immortal,
Who celebrates his youth at once,
Whom my heart loves still,
Who puts my frazzled mind at ease.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whom I love beyond my will,
Whom I love in health and ill,
Whom I love dearly still.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose night is a day of love,
Whose smell endorses my breath,
Whose absence is a living death.

There is none like my Immortal,
Whose words are a delicate touch,
Whose kiss wanted to lie on me,
Whose lateness would still charm me.

There is none like my Immortal,
There is none but an Immortal dream,
Where all is plain and not so sweet
As all that I tasted before.

There is none like my Immortal,
There is none but a sordid dream
That none of our beings shall be a poet
In a garden so sour and forgotten.

There is none like my Immortal,
That all reasons are menial and dry
That to bewitch my Immortal cry;
But my Immortal shall be here not.

There is none like my Immortal,
That there shall be no cheer as sweet
That all shall have none to love me,
As I am in love with my amber self.

There is none like my Immortal,
That there is no love so blessed
For it keeps too much unrest,
As I am singing for my poor love.

There is none like my Immortal,
That there is no love to witness,
There is no winter to wake for,
There is no tale to live like before.