'Oh, thankfully', murmured I, I see your face,
Lighten beneath the moon. Your parish skin
Like a white rose: your swoon, your wakening,
All dreams of my winter sleep; but I, can see now.
Subsequently, pictured I, you near a lake,
On a fall evening, the wind is blowing an old page
And reading a story - with bliss - about a sage
Counting the stars in a cage; and I, can see now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem