Resting like morning song, left from soul-
In sharp thought striking the stone of day
And words are paid off, a passing summer-
When the bolt battles down to ground -glow
Collide, fear and grief in a early rain
With full bloom, smile the nature with sun
Remember; dreaded the gallant stroke of turn
No more to relief and the paradise of men-
Strange; beauty of song is past
Singing with strain; regular lie -
And heard, pure to divine its length-
To cast to death, implore to master’s eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice. Like it, great poem.