There are moments that fill the soul with dreams,
Obscure remembrances that shut from thought all ills,
As if some light all at once in darkness gleams,
Thus increased loveliness the heart fulfills.
All these dreams have a beginning in past
Moments, but for one at all times present,
With lying at the source secrets to last,
Of joys and pains, reward and chastisement.
It is not the purpose to sing its praise,
Portraying well in truth a love to bear,
Seeming sweet dream of beauty to appraise.
And yet, at times, confusingly unclear,
So to my lips trembling light it does seem,
Voicing such love is more like a dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem