The look of it, outshone
In its exuberance
Of wholesome delight
That immediate asked for
And as quick layed upon
Hands, for sweets. A store!
Damp-slipped, with joints banging
Up lickened rungs, a tree's
Of winds rushed upon;
For the apple; the plum.
Whose street-fenced o'erhanging
Prospects first looked glum!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem