As what lights up, and suddenly
Gives it everlasting fame;
That once dim-walked part of it;
Or where sadder, dimmer
And ever unspotted, lane-sulked
For city's lonely shame;
At just the right hour. When as
Angel, with scroll in hand
One, officialing fate
Un-fuzzed if foggier
In the mystery of True Love
Before such now does stand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem