Midst that agitated swirl
All does Time allow
To frame, through dressing, undressing
Conforms to The Now
One bloom, toss; that gust therein.
Restrains instantly!
For what, passing in and out
Of fashion none see.
Beauty, un-perfectible! And now
Cleaving to her breast
Deflects from what, if too brief
Vainly gave no rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem