After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place,--
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.
Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Of the elder dead.
Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way,--
Instinct picking up the key
Dropped by memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To memorize give you pleasure . but better is that you let it go with the wind.