Scorn not these rash impulses bursting forth
That I have written on a blessed cloth
To be read and sanctified by thine eyes;
Should they prove wanting, unworthy to scribe
Then I will knead them back into my heart
With love's clay to remold them, to impart
A significance accomplished by deed
For is this not the true test of love's seed
That may be watered by the sparsest rain
But requiring deepest oceans to maintain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem