WHEN the petal falls and lies
Wrinkled like a leaf that dies,
When the flower that once was merry
Sobers to the russet berry,
When the rose and hawthorn draws
Slowly down to hips and haws,
'T is the season birds are mute,
'Twixt the flower and the fruit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem