And celebration of decline was pouring
Its bliss, washing the pain and sin,
On the little body, gentle so,
Of a baby, who was cross-fixed.
Sun had sat down; last time the gold
Of hair curls has brightly flashed,
So light was look of a baby chosen,
Of the fair little Nazareth.
My friend, while you are not aware
Of the right way, don't take a road:
There you will perfectly be failed
In searching truth! Be with Him only!
And when your dreams are carrying you
'To distant beauty, still unknown',
Then unreciprocated look
Of baby on the cross will be your caution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem