I have wandered, too wearily, out of my way
To find rest in dreams or wakeless hours,
Where night is impassioned in the day;
As day distils night, its perfume sours.
And my heart, it daily waxes and wanes
As the sun in mountainous climes, ascends
To light up Heaven's fair-blue plains
Then down impenetrable heights, again descends.
Tho the sun is not as hot as I,
Does not burn or flame as souls can do!
The wind cannot bellow like my own sigh
When on my breath it carries my love for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem