My nosegays are for captives;
Dim, long-expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till paradise.
To such, if they should whisper
Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
And I, no other prayer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
..........beautiful poem seems a little nostalgic ★