The soul of Britain is upon our saying,
It determines the citizenry, the values;
For we have loved humanity, and fevers
Mark the occasion for some more leading.
There is human sense, justice is not bewitching,
For witches are the craft of their destiny
As far as magic exists.
The land so grave is a sea so strong.
My genuine love has a honour, and its love
Is purer than the bodies of men that hurl
Their strength at the beloved boulders and rocks.
The rock and cave is fetching a new inhabitant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem