Spectre grey and thin was the night
And I was fearful, 'cause it's so-
That with same role I couldn't fight
Though I was not with wounded toe;
Leaves those blew fast are wrinkling
Among sudden winds' secrecy
And I stood as if ting'd by thing
Which with colour made me come by,
Long it's a plain which can soar high
Between the cleav'd passage of dark
And I, who only so do try
To manifest myself in work-
But, better do not do it's now
For the fall of leaves not started
So, to bind an hour's only vow
Because winter's to wait to wed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem