If a statue in itself duly finds,
In a winter which could chill fiery stone,
The urge to dance, surely will other minds
Shun it for having a mind of its own.
Even summer's vivacity can't cure
An effigy so iced, oppressed, enclosed;
For winter has thus rendered me demure,
And I, the statue, stand in cold repose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem