AS when the hunt by holt and field
Drives on with horn and strife,
Hunger of hopeless things pursues
Our spirits throughout life.
The sea's roar fills us aching full
Of objectless desire -
The sea's roar, and the white moon-shine,
And the reddening of the fire.
Who talks to me of reason now?
It would be more delight
To have died in Cleopatra's arms
Than be alive to-night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Adventure must be paid for in blood, sweat, and fear- -but he knows that. He knows there would have been more delight in Cleopatra's arms- -but it would not feel as alive as he felt that night