Across from me The Minster rises,
A tower pinnacle'd like a hand,
Openly grasping the steely clouds,
The other a closed fist or not,
Perhaps an arm without a hand?
Stop at once to consider such a crisis,
To have left an arm without a hand,
Left without a hand,
Left without.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem