No halo hangs above your flaxen hair,
Your faults are looking not that grave to me,
For saints make glaring all the sins I bear,
And could make me appear a devil be;
If touched with cherished heavenly sweet love,
Such as obtained under angelic wings,
Might my reply be deemed low from above,
And hurt, if not despair, to me it brings;
But dare I tread where angels love to tread,
As fools, when wiser now, are fools no more,
To sense that Heaven's gate lies just ahead,
Hell can become a boarded up closed door;
......We, too, might merit halos, bright, someday,
......Eternity is not that far away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem