Through each of a longingness
To a time, timeless
Whisked back, and without surprise
I get wind of it.
Through each sense, of a whitened
Resplendence heightened;
Extracting purer, truer
A knowledge of Beauty;
Whilst, if too, hand-soiled, heart-stung
In Love's other garden
Far from it being unusual
Do then re-inhabit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem