A Day of days! Great cloud in a naked heaven!
Sing loud, glad Earth, a song of triumph!
Under the soil a pale shoot quickens,
A living root dispels December,
Water trickles over crevices of mud and stone,
Forms pools in the young grass,
And birds sing again of the death of winter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very nicely written poem. I enjoyed reading it. Thank you. Sincerely Ernestine Northover