What care I for Beauty's shallow face
When all about is colour'd grey and dun?
Why should I from these darken'd shadows race
To bathe upon brief moments in the sun?
For now the sky has clouded o'er my mind
To taint the world I see with no concern,
My eyes forlorn now passing o'er each kind
Of form, without a joyful sense of passion's burn.
Flowers whose bright senses were once so proudly shown
Lie all neglected 'mongst the tangl'd weed;
Senses which once flower'd in caress unknown
Gather dust from hopes all gone to seed;
And yet should Beauty turn to warm my weary sight,
My heart might beat and end my dreary plight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem