WHAT though the neutral sea sever us twain?
In the still night your soul in mine I take;
Your eyes, hilarious with passion, wake,
And love's delirium is mine again,
When all your body's warmth swirled in my brain—
Your face uplifted like a pallid lake
Where in my eager lips their thirst could slake,
With deep-sighed, langourous kisses, keener than pain.
Then suddenly through passion's rosy mists
A shudder trickled, like a stream of blood:
In a grim pause we felt and understood.
The everlasting war that was our fate—
The pitiless struggle and primeval hate
Of old implacable antagonists.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem