A stranger in his own world.
Shape of resolve as that hurld
A day-time phantom by.
Standing from a good way off.
Its worth to salute, as loth
His poet's, lets none pry.
What goes unseen, and is lost
Even on that mocking host
So fogged wraps him round
Should be stood by in awe for
Its vision. Each place it bore
To beget holy ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem