Under a sky of uncreated mud
or sunk beneath the accursed streets, my life
is added up of cupboard-musty weeks
and ring'd about with walls of ugliness:
some narrow world of ever-streaming air.
My days of azure have forgotten me.
Nought stirs, in garret-chambers of my brain,
except the squirming brood of miseries
older than memory, while, far out of sight
behind the dun blind of the rain, my dreams
of sun on leaves and waters drip thro' years
nor stir the slumbers of some sullen well,
beneath whose corpse-fed weeds I too shall sink.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Under a sky of uncreated mud or sunk beneath the accursed streets, my life is added up of cupboard-musty weeks and ring'd about with walls of ugliness: uncreated mud. like this expression very much. tony