These sounds are sweet
And tremble these hands
In the warmth from cold
And chill that before
Were.
Gone the summer warmth
But in the winter cold
As it blows there's
A violin that plays.
And fall the snowy flakes
And the myriad eyes
Of the night-dews
In spell.
A violin as sweet
As a hundred and more
Violins
In lovely Venice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem