She stands on the edge of the sea and says-
'Out of the land, No peace'-
The god of wind
And a place of virtue stands
By laughing leaf at green-tongue,
Talking with rocks and stones,
Beside a braid-scull cries
And white bone fires in the deep night
I perfectly preferred to a center
But drop out not an idea of wild wind;
Virtue, peace and silence muted
Yet soil and stone time to speak
Out for the result of soul rest
In the dark and deep holy Ganga
Is not as Oak and Holly
Where I live and learn in the fat forest;
Thousand tongues from trees,
Million words from streams and mountains
That just stood beyond the meadow and the window
Green-eyed mountains and yellow streams
Look like the Christmas cake,
Where the lore looked at the distance destiny
Dark woods bedded here and there break
Up the fat city is nothing,
Except Tower, Temples, Theaters-
But the fair country is everything;
Air, light, active, silence-
Be the lover of mountain and stream
Be a man, not to be a street-scull
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
be a man, love mountains and streams, great write.