Not to spring only is the sun confined
but in the dreadful winter, dread removes.
It leaves a lacy pattern so refined
upon the snow and thus approves.
As when it passes into night,
its aspect dies,
but darkness lies
when plainly moon and stars reflect its might.
Nor only at zenith is felt the light,
or early the morning,
or late the evening,
but through our days and unto night.
Not to spring only is the sun confined,
it leaves a lacy pattern so refined.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not ever thought like that.A world of another point of feeling.It's your pen which revealed it, Barry.