See where goodwill led—
What wisdom was it to give
What I called effort
To beasts blind
To its worth?
Every soul craves
That sacred love,
Until it knocks
On their trembling door.
They will shut the latch,
Feigning calm,
Afraid to hold
The candle's wax,
Simple drifting away.
Then I, the giver—
Left to ponder,
Was it folly
To offer swords
To those who dread death?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem