Everything scatters as the night wears on:
but you, don't scatter, will you?
I think we could make this night last forever.
With our joined heads, like mathematicians,
we could work all night, so that
where night once was, work would be; and night,
as long as work went on, would never end.
It is starting to sound a little tiring:
all this working, just to stave off morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem