Were I but lost in feather-light fiction
with captions beneath my feet
Still, up on the hill, dear Phaon and Sappho
hold hands and take to the sea.
With wounded wings and copper chipped teeth
I take on the melody's form
for were I but lost in feather-light fiction
at least you, my love, would keep me warm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem