Hear me, hear me, I am sad,
And
Wish to go to Hastings Gardens
Now
That it be dusk, red dusk
And
Fallen
Is the glory of the day:
Fallen
The peacock beauty of the gaudy
Noon
And all the glories of its
Golden reign:
These are now faded,
Fallen.
Beneath a bending tree
In Hastings Gardens
In pilgrim shabbiness
Dressed
Bent more than the tree
Mourns Hope.
Weeping
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem