Upon the garden path I tread,
Through the shadows I am led;
'Come to me' a voice did say,
'Follow the path, it will lead the way';
I follow that voice, so faint, so far,
I walk the path beneath the stars;
And there beyond the moonlit trees,
The bane of my mortality;
A figure so gallant, so fine, so fair,
Only the stars in Heaven compare;
Yet so still, so cold, of granite stone,
A creature not made of flesh and bone;
So silently I touch him pleading,
But so hard, so chill, his angel's wings;
No warmth, no life doth he possess,
No sight, no breath or raven tress;
So with a tear of unknown bliss,
I kiss the dew upon his lips;
A childish fancy it dost seem,
All was naught but a wistful dream;
A weighted heart with my breast,
I lay my head upon his chest;
And with a solemn breath I sigh,
For morning light approaches nigh;
'Vision of beauty, vision of grace,
Hold me close in Heaven's embrace';
I give a quiet sob of grief,
As teardrops fall about my feet;
A lament so sad, so full of woe,
A visage of sorrow is all I foreknow...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem