Nothing comes and nothing stays,
When I weigh those forlorn days
Nothing wakes my point of view;
Nothing old and nothing new.
Nothing comes around and stays;
Nothing which, though I might pray
Stays here long enough, to touch
Nothing; as if mattered much.
Nothing: the clothes I wear
Nothing: the pain I bare:
Ill winds, when nothing blows;
Nothing comes and nothing goes.
Goes nothing and comes nothing;
Blows nothing when winds, ill;
Bare I pain, the nothing
Wear I clothes, the nothing.
Much mattered; if as nothing
Touch to enough, long here stays
Pray might I, though which nothing
Stays; and around comes nothing.
New nothing and old nothing;
View of point my wakes, nothing,
Days forlorn, those weigh I when:
Stays nothing and comes nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem