THE GRAVEYARD
The tombstones were covered with a dense, gray fog.
A white mausoleum and a nebulous bog
Greeted my apprehensive gaze
With grim, dreadful, wayward, wanton ways,
As I proceeded down the cobblestone lane.
The cemetery was vast, and the cold, autumn rain
Pelted the grass; and the caskets below
Became soaked by the brine as a few flakes of snow
Fell upon my overcoat and my longish hair.
I thought I saw a wraith, a ghost,
Leap into the amber air
In the fit of a languorous, lewd despair.
(He was a dark and grisly host.)
"Why do you walk the land of the dead? "-
He said in way that chilled my skin.
"Do you wish to cross The Acheron in the living state you're in? "
"Yes, " I replied. "For every true bard is off his head.
And since I have had enough of the world outside,
I have changed my address. It is here I reside."
At that he left me, alone, amid the graves,
Where sobriety set in, amid the stark
Shadows of this hallowed park,
Where the boon of darkness truly saves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem