The wind I cannot see I know
By looking at a tree.
The gentle rocks or wilder waves
Say wind is there, to me.
By ear, the wind invisible
Is measured by a chime:
A tinkle here, tink tinkle there
Or calling all the time.
The words I write within my verse
I measure and I mete
By feet that gallop, feet that plod -
For poetry has a beat.
By ear, the wind of poetry's heard
With other sound - the rhyme.
And like the wind invisible,
Makes stanzas chime, chime-chime.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem