The eagle takes heaven full-breath.
A conqueror, below,
State within bracelets mundane,
Is at the gate for all.
The victory's hand —
Stands down a troop
Shooting up glitter
Of polished blades;
Glare, ruby standards
In memento
Of gold-excepted
Purple knit chest.
Air high, a flash marmoreal
Beams the skies in last heave —
A book of material maps
Cannot tell a soul's way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem