Things most rued, lost to recall.
And thus no longer
Can be re-gained, the feeling
Of pleasure attached.
Things and doings. For their guessed
At value unmatched.
Had I or not, bee-induced
In a summer drowse
Ever laid me? As close, cool
Earth, tingly passed o'er
Of its spirit, knowable
As hurts' reliever?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem