There is health in thy gray wing,
Health of nature’s furnishing.
Say, thou modern-winged antique,
Was thy mistress ever sick?
In each heaving of thy wing
Thou dost health and leisure bring,
Thou dost waive disease and pain
And resume new life again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery not funny