Days glided away from the seats of pleasure,
The quick spirit was mastered by the face;
Havoc of months and years persuaded me
To see the arrangements, and the several libraries
Of thoughts and endeavours.
I guessed of resemblances and letters,
Numbers pursued the words and words succumbed,
Each moment passed its time,
Months were old periods and designed to elate
The believers who repented for illnesses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem