I think I see the
bottom,
Where the poor blind
and deaf alone,
True! nothing but his
unfixed soul
He cry, this aidless day.
And I fight the
answer, the brook I
seek
I know not the names
Tho' we have to same
percieve
Everybody 'll say it.
He can't to see, the invisible light
He can't to hear, the silent note
He cry for the wirling burnt tempest
And groan from their blooded sword.
Oh! rishing high from all the ways
And I fear, none 'll breath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem