A day comes and the day goes,
Like the truest friend and the finest lover;
And amidst, within the theorems, I hide,
And beneath the numbers, hides Blake.
Ordained, me thus a happy priest, my mind,
To see like a god and feel like a man;
For when the rain's falling,
Its dynamics precise, owns the day,
And its hands holds the night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem