The night like a wading foot;
The twin of my bleak root.
The dawn of light shunned the shore.
Then was beauty like a sage spurring every act of misery.
The footpath of this golden age was out of show.
Each merry dream was contradictory.
The night worked in fate's garden
To The merriment of the abstract mountains hanging out.
An ungracious fortune was conceived in that pattern.
A rest was, born of wedlock,
A love like a tiny thread couldn't be stout.
All brought fame to insanity and hardluck.
Nigher to break, mine fortune broke,
Whence compelling lies ages doubts-
And such a dwelling is what love do find,
Buried with truth in hearts of no mind.
And in this land a miner of hearts I was.
Though, from surfaces I let my passion grew.
Many I found that faireth, but die didn't my chilling blues.
Till this maiden I find whose image 's my cheer's cause.
For this love do I my fervent prayer.
This heart will I in ceaseless crave-
Where found I my chirpiness' fount.
Not my pride to solely seek.
Though, in words seems I this honour engrave.
It's the thought I seal that mostly count,
What through words could not wholly leak.
You are the midnight beam, in days the sunniest bright-
That keeps the sun in daze,
My merry dreams a place in the light,
And all my nights immortally victims of your braze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem