Earth - a glorious foreshadower
Of what heavenly upflares
Laid down lives, over. Autumn-wreathed.
In shroud of cloud eve bares.
If ever, to each year's dying
More astounding, each day's own
No soul, to its beauty, has woken
What to it, last, can be shown?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem