The flowers be wilting, it is spring,
The mind be fleeting, it is spring,
The pain be seething, it is spring,
My heart be bleeding, it is spring.
The one who moves my torrid heart
To ink these lines — of me a part —
May be distant, may be a dream,
I see in me her visage gleam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem