Breezily, in expectation's fury
See whom have late possessed
The roads, Summer-accessed!
A wild-fire of an escorting mood!
It burns out of my hair
The predator Despair.
Could it but forget it seeks its quenching
At their jetty-ends, fanned
Of the trident-in-hand!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem