The passage of dead leaves in spring
Is like the aged vanishing.
Amid the bustle and delight
Of beauty thronging sound and sight,
Their lengthened course we hardly know
Nor mark their exit when they go.
Yet through the burst of budding green
And blossoms rich with varied sheen
A brown leaf sometimes flutters by
And breeds a sombre revery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All this awesome beauty and melancholy occasioned by the sight of one brown leaf falling as seen by a poetic eye.