Whyfore through the morning mist
Appears this forlorn ghost, aflame
In footsteps which no dew hath kist,
Upon his hopeless walk of shame?
And though the darken'd boughs reveal
The fledging of the morning star,
Their deepen'd shadows yet conceal
A deeper mystery, by far.
Canst he not find where love hath flown,
Across the forest and the plough?
Canst he not lure from the unknown,
Knowing quite what he knows now?
Alas, with every step, each frozen heart,
Once underfoot, doth break apart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem