Monde de O, je ne peux pas juger le thee assez troit ! Vents de Thy, cieux gris larges thy ! Brumes de Thy, ce roulement et lvation ! Bois de Thy, ce jour d'automne, qui font mal et flchissent et tout sauf le cri avec la couleur ! Ce rocher dcharn craser ! Pour soulever le maigre de ce bluff noir ! Monde, monde, je ne peux pas obtenir fin de thee assez !
Long avoir I connu une gloire dans elle toute, mais n'a jamais su I ceci; Ici une telle passion est pendant que le stretcheth j' part, Seigneur, je craignent Thou'st rendu le monde trop belle cette anne ; Mon me est tout sauf hors de moi, a laiss la chute aucune feuille brlante; le prithee, n'a laiss aucun oiseau appeler.
Volunteers needed to translate poetry into different languages. Please help us correct the translation of these poems. We currently have 79,663 translations and are trying to create the largest and most accurate database of world poetry translations. We have started with machine translations which are very inaccurate. Please translate your favorite poem on this site. You will be given credit for your translation and a link to your site if desired. COPYRIGHT NOTICE: These poems have been gathered and submitted by many of people, and from many sources. Most have no copyright. However, some may may have copyrights. We have tried to collect poems that appear on many external sites where the author seems to want to disseminate. If you are an author and do not want your poetry translated into other languages then send a removal request and it will be promptly removed.