These wound dewed walks, ice-hung, summer's
Ever encroached upon
By sweet grasses, plenteous
Queen Anne's lace herb, prodigious,
Subtle-sweet'ning one;
But for a scented memory
Heard, inhaled on through.
Strenghtens with the years! What first
Were in a chased child's outburst
Brushed off, as mere rue!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are adept in making an awesome poem from a few fragments of images. Great one, dear James.
Oh so much aporeciated. Thankyou.