Earth! through whom we come and go,
Mother of Prometheus! fair.
Thy temples rose in warmer air,
Thou many-breasted, ever young,
To sounding cymbals wast thou sung
Two thousand years ago;
Yet here again
The wisest man of many men,
The truest bard of latest days
Has made his life thy hymn of praise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem