Upon my parchment, sadly old,
The record lives of Summer's gold;
And in my veins there lingers now
The joy of Spring's awakening bough.
So I, like many a human heart
Wherefrom life's shining days depart,
Keep valiently some remnant yet
Of dreams we never quite forget.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem