Is your magic really true?
All these things pass, from me to you;
For some we sense; and some we knew
From you to me, would pass again,
Like every day, turns into night;
Like every virtue, hides some sin;
Like we need dark, to sense the light:
I'd fall in love, a thousand times
With he who works, so faithfully
To unbury that rare soul, in me.
If he could but show once, my face
And spark that vision, with his grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem