My back against the warm old oak,
I look out on a perfect day
And watch the spring wind come to play again
On the wide field, the beckoning field,
In the soft bending grass.
Just so far and free you used to run:
Headlong, sun-driven.
Just so true the line you left behind
In the parted grass.
Come and sit beside me now
As you used to do when, finally, you tired.
Rest now, my wild, brave one,
My beautiful one,
Little wind in the grass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Pretty feelings and wonderful emotions of the poetess.