I sometimes look at a pure beauty,
And I seek it above, that I can reach
Those touches of the brush, and feel it
Within my bluest sense and reddest desire.
I sometimes am mesmerized, by who
Create those blurs, and that Art;
I weep for joy, and that is why
It frees saddest cries, and showers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem