The shy eye of heaven stirs,
Beneath nights of tender breeze;
When storms are far from ear,
And tempests fret above the knees.
There, the keen moon gloats,
For dreams are beamed higher
By breezes deep beneath;
Strands of endless selves,
Girdling night’s ghostly eye;
The moon’s lively cargo
Sentinel lighthouse of sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A really good poem. How old are you?