O, when I met him first,
that man of speaking,
I did in attentive silence stay.
His rainbow words were spilling
sounds of colour,
his utterings did float
about my brain.
And when this fine vocabulary
did cease,
my eyes did wander 'cross his face
and watched him close,
and watched him move,
and watched his mind
erase fingered rings
and well worked hands
in shining beauty
of his touch,
leading me through misty hues
into citadels of lights and dews,
and in these droplets each, a vision
of unknown shades and mystery.
Sally Plumb
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I would like to translate this poem