Sometimes the skirts I push through my machine
Spread circlewise, strong petalled lobe on lobe,
And look for the rapt moment of a dream
Like Buddha's robe.
And I, caught up out of the workroom's stir
Into the silence of a different scheme,
Dream, in a sun-dark, templed otherwhere
His alien dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem