Past sculpting cloud, and rolling out
An earth-mash, picturesque wrought
There is still vexatious churning;
From the Maker stubborn thought.
The rearing man, through what's to be
Veiled for each demeanour's source:
An anger, to thunder-discharge?
Through dawn, a smile to force?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem