Why have you been so cold, consuming Life,
That has swallowed my youth in scathing Strife
For nothing- you motley, wild clay,
Have you ever sat out a sinless day?
Soon love as mourn; to act and err;
And thereupon distract faith to despair.
For what grand plan draws out your stay,
Save being a slave of dark Desire’s play?
There are more, you say, from the martyred maids
Or the winged, haloed saints and wise old sages-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem