Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness,
Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell;
Say, 'God is angry, and I earned it well-
I would not have him smile on wickedness:'
Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:-
'God rules at least, I find as prophets tell,
And proves it in this prison!'-then thy cell
Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness.
-'A prison-and yet from door and window-bar
I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air!
Even to me his days and nights are fair!
He shows me many a flower and many a star!
And though I mourn and he is very far,
He does not kill the hope that reaches there!'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem