A hundred generations have gone into its making,
With all their love and tenderness, with all their dreams and tears;
Their vanished joy and pleasure, their pain and their heart-breaking,
Have colored this rare blossom of the long-unfruitful years.
Their victory and their laughter for this have strong men given,
For this have sweet, dead women paid in patience which survives
That a great soul might bring the world, as from the gate of heaven,
All that was rich and beautiful in those forgotten lives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem