Loud on my roof the regiments of rain
March with their old insistence, and I hear
Troop after troop, column and troop again,
Sweep by before Dawn's shining hosts appear.
O armies of the night, your rhythmic tramp
Lures me at last to the deep bourne of Sleep,
And you and I find peace in some far camp
Where only silence and her legions creep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem