The pitcher fell and broke
And bleak the cold wind grew:
The dusk-clouds fore the night
Sailed rapidly away.
The sea it rolled and rolled
And restless the tree neighed
In every leaf; the owl unmoving stood;
And looked down pitying.
The pitcher fell and broke
And deep, deep night
Is coming on irreversible.
A leaden curtain fell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem