' With the Morning Dew,
comes Rainbow, filled, anews,
like Angels fall,
the Dead arise;
The Turning of the Ages, surely,
means nothing beside;
And as God cast a glimpse,
at His Eternal Self,
nothing is left,
except himself;
For as above,
so below,
as Gods only sport,
the Eternal Now. '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem