I dread, my friend, my glory days are done:
I see the end approaching ever near,
And death doth seem at last no more unkind;
Prolonging fading moments or to stall,
I'm striving, failing, drawling deathbed gall,
Convincing still my parting soul not blind,
I was, albe't my sight was not that clear;
But I did trust my heart my life to steer,
And hoped, nay begged, such blind faith'd be enshrined;
I'm now reclined expecting certain fall,
Since when I looked into my crystal ball:
Oh, glory felt like just a state of mind,
And nothing heart, too nothing soul did smear,
And I was wrong: I've never reached the sun!
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I would like to translate this poem