Sleep is Death's image,-poets tell us so;
But Absence is the bitter self of Death,
And, you away, Life's lips their red forego,
Parched in an air unfreshened by your breath.
Light of those eyes that made the light of mine,
Where shine you? On what happier fields and flowers?
Heaven's lamps renew their lustre less divine,
But only serve to count my darkened hours.
If with your presence went your image too,
That brain-born ghost my path would never cross
Which meets me now where'er I once met you,
Then vanishes, to multiply my loss.
Εάν με την Παρουσία σας πήγε και η Εικόνα σας, αυτό το πνεύμα που γεννήθηκε από το νου δεν θα διασχίσετε ποτέ το μονοπάτι μου Αυτό που με συναντά τώρα, πού θα σας συναντήσω, εξαφανίζεται, για να αυξήσει την απώλειά μου.ΥΠΕΡΟΧΟ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 10+++++++
A beautiful verse on losing someone you are in love with. Enjoyed each stanza.. Thanks for sharing.
I think that this poem is honestly awful. James Russel Lowell has big gay, he probably kissed a man. What a loser.1/5.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Then came the unseen that filled his heart with illusions and took her away creating a void forever as absence is none other than death...........very deep and composed brilliantly.......thanks for sharing