All true words fly, as from yon reedy marsh
The crane rings o'er the wild its screaming harsh.
Vainly you try reason in chains to keep;--
Freely it moves as fish sweeps through the deep.
Hate follows love, as 'neath those sandal-trees
The withered leaves the eager searcher sees.
The hurtful ne'er without some good was born;--
The stones that mar the hill will grind the corn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem