The pale sun, gliding low,
refuses to rise into leaden
grey skies, so bleak night
inters our sinful souls.
Oh! break out the candles
and place them around!
See how their fires
consume the dark ground.
Bouquet of flame!
devour our sins,
and ignite winter’s night
in holy conflagration.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem