The world hath no sorrow that death cannot efface
Nor any pain it cannot erase
Torment at worst invokes the last sleep
That ends it but makes mortals weep.
My temporal pleasures are dead
I sense no joy in food, work or bed,
Lost are all my hopes and fears,
On my grave, shed no tears.
Youths in full vigor and bloom
Fate snatches away to their doom,
Infants too in their crib and cot,
Why no heart for an ailing old man’s lot?
I lie in wait for Death’s soft embrace
For eternal slumber in a serene place,
To end this life of toil, strife and race,
To rid the flesh of its pleasure chase.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem