I gave my thoughts a golden peach,
A silver citron tree;
They clustered dumbly out of reach
And would not sing for me.
I built my thoughts a roof of rush,
A little byre beside;
They left my music to the thrush
And flew at eveningtide.
I went my way and would not care
If they should come and go;
A thousand birds seemed up in air,
My thoughts were singing so.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Another bright and cheerful poem by the late poetess One of those rare poems where a single word is never out of place and is so well crafted and chosen.