There is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
The village-girls singing wild madrigals,
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her;
There on that day. Her dark and eloquent eyes
'Twas heaven to look upon; and her sweet voice
As tuneable as harp of many strings,
At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem