EVEN as a bird sprays many-coloured fires,	
The plumes of paradise, the dying light	
Rays through the fevered air in misty spires	
    That vanish in the heights.	
 
These myriad eyes that look on me are mine; 	        
Wandering beneath them I have found again	
The ancient ample moment, the divine,	
    The God-root within men.	
 
For this, for this the lights innumerable	
As symbols shine that we the true light win:	        
For every star and every deep they fill	
    Are stars and deeps within.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem