Thoughts pass...
Thought less give I...
To things in mind's absence that pass...
Flee over a fleeting thought...
Impulse restless, reckless, unrest...
My belonging I lost...
To an hour of muse...
Deserved which much contemplate,
Assistance of sensibilities well measured.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem, like it. Good write.