There have been many a time my candle I admire

That flares brightly in the night darkness to get afire.

Its wick is so slender, its trunk so tender

But it still lights up its own heart a flame to render.

Though through time, the candle itself is no more,

Shortening, tears running round its body, but no sore.

It still burns, burns itself, continues to blaze

For the flame's sake without regret to be ablaze.

Isn't it that because of loving too much, vehemently,

Or being naive, credulous owing to love evidently,

Even aware of agony, it still has to weep to behove

So it keeps volunteering to burn out for love.

In spite of burning only once, a very short time,

Or all its life being burnt only because of love prime,

It still does love, though much ill experience brought,

For, if not, if life lacks love, life will mean naught.

Translation by Thanh-Thanh