That from nowhere settles impressions
Gleam O thou dost aid the muse
Below, to drain his soulful
Desire, from the strings of thy
All power, and sudden claim
The deep romance of spiritual
Guide, the never ceasing fluttering
Bird, of forest and eagle high
The horizon hues, give vent
To thousand Lofty thoughts of poetry
The flowting marBle like clouds
Form incomprehensive molds
But the lowly eye views this all
And, From within, peals its classic melancholy folds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem