' With the Morning Dew, 
comes Rainbow, filled, anews, 
like Angels fall, 
the Dead arise; 
The Turning of the Ages, surely, 
means nothing beside; 
And as God cast a glimpse, 
at His Eternal Self, 
nothing is left, 
except himself; 
For as above, 
so below, 
as Gods only sport, 
the Eternal Now. '                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    