How complete the fields look
When between them runs a brook
Giving life to plains all still
But for soft grass that in a chill
Of wind waves at some passers-by
Who stop to stare and sweetly sigh
At the sun early turning in
For an owl to longer sing
In a dark green leafy den
Where I will sleep but only when
I've sung all my love away
And seen the last of this fair day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem