In the morning,
now,
that mistress Dawn has come to reign and went
now
there's bustling to make up
for the old silence of the dreary night
when beauty issues forth when humans sleep
when the old ancient houses one eye closed
the other open look
when gardens dream, when the fields glisten
white in the white rays of the white moon
and the old chapel bell
old, yes, old,
rings frothy and swift and distant
in the night
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem