O we attempt to fill up the void of our days
With all manner of mundane tasks. And then each grey
Moment is temporarily relieved by our
Obsessive pursuit of elaborate fancies.
O we often seem bereft of vital powers.
We seem fearful of facing our own emptiness.
O can we rediscover the spring time of life? !
Or will we remain chained to diurnal time's strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem