The world is paved with light,
Like a church with smoke and resin.
Men drunk with the skies
Stagger in prophets' vestments.
Cold, new, fragile, virginal,
Light leads mankind in her skirts
And her smooth silk touch
Invests neck and soul with ornaments.
Grape-clusters, trod and scattered,
Are red shingle, garden berries
To the light.
Heavy horse-blankets in which
Leaves lie buried
Are slowly woven.
From the soul's resurrection,
From the spring,
She-goats of memories drink;
Cats romp with kids
To the glassy whistling of finches.
In the wind you pick out a babe's cry
Sung by a voice from the earth.
Born in me, the babe remains in me,
And I throw the sorcova* of light
Into its arms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Vivid imagery, thanks for the great illustration through words.