Curious the changes wrought by Time and Fate
These voiceless echoes only ghost can hear
Were songs of passioned man-lips yesteryear,
And words that are, but silent thoughts of late.
Someday, perchance, your heart will learn to hate
The woman-soul you now hold truly dear
Wherefore your whispers echoing so clear
To me will come no more though long I wait.
But need I grieve? ‘Twas not long ago
At eve a wilting rosebud murmured low:
“Though now forsaken by the sun you love,
Smile on, dear Self. For hate is not unlove.”
If this were so, beloved why should I
Grieve at your hating me, or weep, or sigh?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem