XXXI
And why hast merriment, gone astray!
Whence a Childhood's innocent view,
Then, within a Moment's throe-
Senescent's rue.
Too many days and nights belied
O multitudes! Thy Death of vain
In a dark, desolate repose-
The worth of Lucid's ane.
All this sorrow, fash and wae
O Damocles! What horrid lor;
Waiting for that mortal breath
When I go o'er.
XXXII
And oh, what peace upon me bides
Ever thus, I shall not care;
My everlasting fen of lull-
No more wae to bear.
I shall not care of emptiness
Nor shards of pain and fey;
I will not care of horridness-
Nor Yesterday's morrow- today.
And ever thus, rends the thrall
O Misery! Regale me Death;
Let thy throe upon me crash
In last of Breath!
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Kevin G. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.