Beethoven was a deeply troubled soul.
For he felt that he had not yet composed
Even a musical note of real worth,
Despite his outstanding body of work.
It seems that many artists feel this way.
They spend their whole lives looking for a ray
Of sunshine; within this cold, darkened world.
They wish to capture sublime moments of beauty
Yet what they glimpse, then grasp, are mere fading dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem