Bring along a barren page in your haste,
Soonest we await the prints on that page;
From a hungry muse our sight long to taste,
And drink the wise elixir of a sage.
Soothing and sweeten'd as musical chords,
Where we drown deeper down in amusement;
Aplenty inks for the ladies and lords,
Surely refine in words for the moment.
For the moment? How wrong I am to say,
And blather inside this exciting note;
Aplenty prints to be read all the way,
Not a chance to pause; compr'hend what I wrote.
Deary- -my eye-sight seem to close my gaze;
Weary- -my eye-sight will read till I daze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem