If anything, this room
Invites peace.
Chaired, couched of one, or both.
Never wroth!
With door locked, that accessed
Through window
Soft curtained, and for it
Swells a bit;
Floored, eve's hour, of who's moves
Pine-scented
Casts sweetest of all spells.
Sleep, compels.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem