If some day this body of mine were burned
(It found no favour alas! with you)
And the ashes scattered abroad, unurned,
Would Love die also, would Thought die too?
But who can answer, or who can trust,
No dreams would harry the windblown dust?
Were I laid away in the furrows deep
Secure from jackal and passing plough,
Would your eyes not follow me still through sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem