There the vessel rolled to left
To right as incense in a censer
Swung by devout hands of sacred
Votaries in sound less nocturnal
Shrines
The verses as wheels oiled turned
First as slow, then little more,
Then more, more and more and
More till they wheezed all around.
Yet when to the Shrine of the Muse
Came they barefoot knelt they
In that nocturnal cemetery silence-sound
And down the hills amidst occasional
Cricket hisses tiny eyed glow worms
abound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem