Hill and vale, and that winding twixt
Out mists glints, re-enlivened
Traced up and down, and soaked in
At first, alone, eye-gladdened.
A shame this lump of an object
Tedious borne must follow!
More'ore of this unendurable
Aching, weighed: age, and its woe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem