Come through the fog that hangs!
Chilly ghost of the reel of the future;
Cut my hair now before it grows not
Cut it you will hold it
In a reliquary of forgotten humans:
Who strived not to be forgotten:
Who wrote, who thought, who asserted.
Come through the fog that hangs!
The clock of age is to be reverted as by magic.
Magic will be the mechanics by which the clock of
age be reverted
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem