I chanced upon it; and I'm
Coming round to acceptance.
No more on a child's book-held
Fantasies to look askance!
This one got away from them.
And aired itself in Whereness.
The one illustration, with
A pulse; with fidgitines;
That bubbled, bluish, up out
From the splashings of drawings.
One birded astonishment!
Just now; before drabber things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem