He've no compunctious
Remedy
The rimes of four or five
Beget the redding
Of sails unwitting
to stream
within sinew
So it flows
Call't the defeat of
the ego
The tinge of velvet
paint'd the thread
Call't the victory
of heart
So sung
betwixt the masses
In ea pugna
Nary an end
The aught of this:
The age
of felled spirits
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem