I did not tell you what I should have told,
I pruned it half; though your interrogation
Received the pleasure of complete gold
I did not provide its due evaluation;
The unthroated epistle lingered in my mind
And more, and more, whispering to my soul;
There in its syllables my cut self was assigned
Barred from valour and vanity to unroll;
Sure, you nourished some quite attitude of me
Burnishing to your eyes among all my class -
Sure you summed it sure to be
Among thriftless weeds and growthless grass;
Had I made my suppressed segment fall
I could have said it that I am above all
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem