We are loved, tis preached us.
That we knew that we were!
Cold is faith's unreason
Beside what feelings stir
In the heart, and outwards
To each pleasure-stinging.
Ask trees in the red dawn;
Whose sap runs out singing.
We're re-born, tis crowed us.
By morn's roosters, let be.
They are more convincing
As trumps of Deity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
n the heart, and outwards To each pleasure-stinging. Ask trees in the red dawn; Whose sap runs out singing.// beautiful poem penned