It might have been a zephyr only
Of an angry mood, the feeblest aired
But for what's storm-raised as a mind-flash
To be shook by must you be prepared.
Merest of mere light soakings you say
Piteous partook, too few the tears
But brought to their rememberance above
A cloudless burst of love for you nears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem