In long, slow silences of soul
Beneath the sunset on the sea
I think I hear the numbers roll
That tell my conquest over thee;
When thou art gentle and serene,
Thyself, forgotten all thy pride;
And I, myself as I have been,
A hero with his sword untried,
Able for mastery; and the game
Is offered and the action up;
And to my purpose true I claim
A hot draught from the stirrup-cup,
Then entertain thee. All my soul
Awakes upon the sunset sea
When high and clear the numbers roll
That tell my conquest over thee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem