Know you her secret none can utter?
Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown?
Still on the spire the pigeons flutter,
Still by the gateway flits the gown;
Still on the street, from corbel and gutter,
Faces of stone look down.
Faces of stone, and stonier faces—
Some from library windows wan
Forth on her gardens, her green spaces,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem