Restful time-passing; and
A real felt portent
Scoffed at, through this age of
Shook leaves for nerves
Of true peace. Which peace is
More airless, tree-stilling.
Earth's soul conserves.
Exposed to what, prior
This revealed moment
Layed down for, canopied
Of this scent-sphere
Through these worlds of nature
Lacked the divine presence
Chill-blew for Fear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem