Pain drags her soul to darkness none recalls.
To soul who loved her not, her wrath befalls;
clouds stoop low, the moon tiptoes
to hear her prayer breathed in moor.
Death doth wait the evening bells;
her wind-chimes haul o'er the dreary fields.
Where love is waned, her pain is named,
she walks o'er the dew of her hope maimed.
A moment brief, her angels win-
on envy's mist arose a primrose sin.
Spells spinning on the breeze, she cast,
on veils of violet her fury hides.
To paradise where none resides...
down, down she goes.
Where are you poetess? On the darkness? Oh! come on! Come to light like your poems bright.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good job.. add some light to it...