The Wine Poem by Sara Teasdale

May I invite you, my fellow poets, to read this poem in Malayalam on my page. My Translation.

Marvellous poem. Death cannot approach a poet, so true a statement. And that Death could not, is corroborated by the fact that we read and Teasdale's poem even today, almost a century after her demise.

I CANNOT die, who drank delight From the cup of the crescent moon, And hungrily as men eat bread, Loved the scented nights of June. great imagination the crescent moon and wine flowing from it. tony