'Come! Let us lay a lance in rest,
And tilt at windmills under a wild sky!
For who would live so petty and unblessed
That he dare not tilt at something, ere he die?'
Rather than, screened by safe majority,
Preserve his little life to little ends,
and never raise a rebel battle-cry!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem