Lying awake in my dormitory
I listen and from far away
I hear a bird calling me -
Softly it comes,
Softly it goes,
Inviting,
Exciting
My tame contentment -
Leading me to suppose
Its owner is a kingly bird.
Softly it comes,
Softly it goes.
And where the firs, dark, morose
Their red barks set close
On damp-mossened ground -
There is the source
And loud is the sound.
1951, England)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are the Queen of Imagery and the Lady of Colors! Truly wonderful work. Patricia Gale