There is no stillness in this wood.
The quiet of this clearing
Is the denial of my hearing
The sounds I should.
There is no vision in this glade.
This tower of sun revealing
The timbered scaffoldage is stealing
Essence from shade.
Only my love is love's ideal.
The love I could discover
In these recesses knows no lover,
Is the unreal,
The undefined, unanalysed,
Unabsolute many;
It is antithesis of any,
In none comprised.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The undefined! With muse of life around you. Nice work.