Deep, Love, yea, very deep.
And in the dark exiled,
I have no sense of light but still to creep
And know the breast, but not the eyes. Thy child
Saw ne'er his mother near, nor if she smiled;
But only feels her weep.
Yet clouds and branches green
There be aloft, somewhere,
And winds, and angel birds that build between,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem