The heart asks pleasure first
And then, excuse from pain-
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem was written in 1924. Why or how is it still relevant today?
Too many ways for me to note. I haven't read this for a long time, I remembered the first couple of verses out of the blue this morning and wanted to look it up.