My fine-spun self is shrouded;
Shielded from approaching storms,
By guilders shade now tainted;
Upon my gentle dancing form.
The dark-ground is my comfort,
Cupping my cavorting feet;
While drumming beats of my tender-heart,
Harks' my strumming bobbing beat.
Innocence is the name upon my heart,
And my delicate ways are seen by all;
Enthroned are the souls' who see me standing;
For my body given, is given whole.
I beckon out to all who notice,
I tap my beat to all whom fear;
I beg to reach those lost forgotten,
I long to make the listening hear...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem