What needst I this mirror that to my sightless view
Brings forth nothing but what I write of my own shadow;
Of what I can ne'er see, you have loved more than I,
And e'ery falling star in snowflakes to my mind still,
Whence all the panorama of this world in winter cold
Has no return, nor no darkling insight can bewail the night:
Behold! that day of past woe made new, blind of looks so fair,
Unlooked for love my Lord's light, a pilgrimage to thee,
Of virgin mother born this our common happy morn,
The Sun's eye in whose love e'erything flows to eternal bliss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem