This harsh light, back on you
Piercingly cruel aimed
Is of no sun, though it burns
In heart, as hot, yes?
And however thickly
Shaded, walled off are
For protection, there's just no
Hung bough, cloister, right?
Unless counter-eying bright.
Love's; for that loveless!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem