Earth your garden's dryads are fled,
Once who lived from bough to bough;
The spring is gone and now,
Lush leaves are burnished with red;
The roses in their chaplets are dead,
Lakes are full of maple's pillows,
Sleep the nymphs in those lillows,
And dream about the life they led.
A lost pixie seems from far,
In golden grown of harvested land;
When at slumberous shadowy night,
Looks like some effulgent star
Floats in serene benignant flight,
When purls the wind upon the sand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem