Took his book of magic.
My waning health revamps, kindles
The fire that in embers crackled.
And the night bleak so bleak
Lights with the burning stars.
Aye! Aye! Blood courses, Spanish,
Passionate, Mediterranean, proud.
Nor does it renege its Italian ancestry
Nor lose the thread of Teutonic remote.
Nor the night sleeps, but dreams and
Speaks unto itself Valletta’s history.
Ah! when I take my lyre, as Merlin
Took his book of magic.
My waning health revamps, kindles
The fire that in embers crackled.
And the night bleak so bleak
Lights with the burning stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem