Alone at a club, I dined and stemmed
From the soil to know her and the dreams;
She clung sometimes to the throws and thorns,
Addressing her was a plain mystery of sanity.
The chief theatrical show emerged from the look
Of the place.
It was a new neighbourhood, newly vanishing,
With delights of dread, and shorter paths of sight.
The club seemed a new number of distinguished guardians,
Ending the careful loss seemed high and sound
With enthusiasm, losing touch with real manners
Of flesh and soul, beauty and audacity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem