From pious windows, wrath-spat
Such as makes them so
For what are looked down upon;
Children. Angels, no!
Marked that sign, and its placement
Did they; nevertheless
Cling more to them butterflies.
To wills that digress!
Of God's own waved on ambit
Wind-blown, for shrieks' peal
Any boy, lost in the moment
Justified to feel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem