Rush back to these arms
O Love on the wing.
Strong boughs to enfold
My little dove in.
Distressed from afar
Of what goes through me
Lone-chilled, yet to hear!
Lone-chilled, yet to see!
Once such high regard
Song-bright you enter
No more content bird
Cooing will answer
To what, summer plush
Augurs summer's ease
Of whispers, warm-soft
Secure dreams appease.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem