She came to mask the day
The girl I speak of then
She gazed, with much to say
Her voice echoes the wren
In her absent I felt
No one to whet the flame
In my absent she dealt
Is love a dazzled game?
The flakes of winter days
For whom their beauties raid?
Her face hint in the rays
Will quick hearts bear old faith?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem