Give me no coil of daemon flowers-
Pale Messalines that faint and brood
Through the spent and secret twilight hours
On their strange feasts of blood.
Five me wild things of moss and peat-
The gipsy flower that bravely goes,
The heather's little hard, brown feet,
And the black eyes of sloes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem