The Wise Bird in day's heat
Sits perched.
Some murmurings she makes.
Her Wisdom like to liquid I the Glass
Rises and falls,
Yet falls not as to eject Wisdom away.
Wisdom to her attaches.
It be a habit
Virtue I shall say.
And when she sings I know that she feels
Wise.
For I knew that before and I know still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem