This should but quicken
Not delay nor daunt
Life's step, love-shod.
Shadowed, from behind
Of whom, as stalker
Is heard to trod.
Too late, in facing
Which evil gloom is
For Death, darkest.
Not o'er whom you left
Comfortless, to shed
Tears, guiltiest!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem