Breathe, breathe, Greek breath, the pines
Are hanging down for they pined
At the parting of the red dusk:
And since they bent their head
They will not rise, no, not even
Night-stars lighting after the other
Will do the trick: they still bend
And further bend as the night deepens in
Even though the winter chill bites not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem