On hills and glens and mountains high,
Day or night, the blue black sky.
Bring back the memories so dear
And with each memory, there comes a tear.
The Rose that you placed between the pages,
Is lovelier though it seems ages.
And every moment I feel and see anew,
Some silent, vivid, loving trace of you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem