MY LOVE, SHE SLEEPS
My only one, my dove,
My love,
She sleeps.
The bells, they chime
Their endless rhyme.
As I go
Through the snow,
My heart - it weeps.
On a lantern lit lane,
Which glows despite my dire pain,
I surrender to The Lord,
To His infinite glory,
To His providential symphony,
To the pulse of its soft refrain -
As our hearts do beat
Of one accord.
And all of the sufferings which I meet,
Which fall from the sun kissed linden trees,
Render me mute, as a work of clay.
And although your touch is faraway
I can still hear the cadence in the beauty of your name:
Its eternal gems shine forever the same
In the mystic enclaves of the falling rain,
In the cold despair
Of the wild breeze,
Which sobs its quatrain,
Now here, now there,
Reciting only ecstasies.
JOHN LARS ZWERENZ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
nicely penned the untouched strong love- Render me mute, as a work of clay. And although your touch is faraway