Life tasseling with amber,
Slowly looking up, somnambulant into the
Bedrooms of another
Ship: and now what is this: what is
This, sleeping
Head, but another daydream losing itself upon
The arc of another tree:
While the new day’s fires start up slowly,
Climbing up hill,
Surmounting, and then casting a long shadow
Down through the valleys of another
Pilgrimage:
There amidst the limbless asphodels where
It has no reasons to belong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem