His swart cheek tingled with the rain,
So swift he rode that night;
But all his speed no boon might gain
Save to kiss, in a rapture of love and pain,
Dead lips at morning light.
Had he but known, what touched his cheek,
Riding that midnight wild,
Was her soul's kiss that might not speak,
And the wail in his ear, so woeful and weak,
The cry of his unborn child!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem