Chink against my ribs
And roll about like silver hail-stones.
I should like to spill them out,
And pour them, all shining,
But my heart is shut upon them
And holds them straitly.
Come, You! and open my heart;
That my thoughts torment me no longer,
But glitter in your hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem