If age was golden falls in lands of blithe
Not clothings sown for skins that pamper gloom
I'd drift in speed to knolls that sing of light
And taste the sweetened threads of youthful loom.
But whither nuptial dreams of tailing woes
Yet dwell in breath and match the bridal knell
'tis aimless thought to loathe the cursing foes
When subtle space is bridged by breathing hell.
The robe of youth is gone as olden days
With darkened spears that guard the chin and head
But mocking time has stolen youthful rays
Thus breath and lively thoughts will lay abed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem