Ghosts of the spirit
They
Mischievous things flew
Flew
Flew through the woods of Eden
For so the desolate place was called
Where a Styx-like river
Flew:
And Boreas like winds from the north
With hail therein
Blew, blew and blew:
And flakes of hail flew
Flew
Like particles of red fire from the forge
The bellows of the Earth
Laboring in tempest:
It was to be expected after all
In that harsh winter, yes, it was
To be expected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem