This is a Blossom of the Brain—
A small—italic Seed
Lodged by Design or Happening
The Spirit fructified—
Shy as the Wind of his Chambers
Swift as a Freshet's Tongue
So of the Flower of the Soul
Its process is unknown.
When it is found, a few rejoice
The Wise convey it Home
Carefully cherishing the spot
If other Flower become.
When it is lost, that Day shall be
The Funeral of God,
Upon his Breast, a closing Soul
The Flower of our Lord.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem