The stilled heart grows turbulent.
A love-storm is churning
If I were strong of will,
I would stall the recurrent blood tide;
I would be rock
And petrify my inner eye,
As a sightless Grecian bust.
But now I see
Those undecoded eyes
That cannot speak to me
Except as pulsars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem