Except that they must be very large
And bade the wayfarer to sit down
And all dotted with freckles
She wore a cloak
This fore-carriage composes of a massive iron axle-tree
With a pivot, into which was fitted a heavy shaft
The whole thing compact, overwhelming
It seems like the carriage of an enormous cannon
Why was that fore-carriage of a truck in that place in the street?
Wouldn't have dropped him
And off they went at last
Suspicous folk to meet
It looks as if my caught was coming true
If he looked to risk a light
They hated and hated worse
For diamonds in the sunlight
Any reason for the better man
Nothing but her fresk
Of divine
She resumed humming
What could it mean
A more southerly source
Suddenly on her fresk
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem