The grim, grey light of the smothered moon
Rests in the crevices of the midnight garden,
Usurping the daylight dreams and cares
Watching the sly frost harden;
Night is here- goodbye sweet day
That throbbed the blood through the veins,
But now dispersed with it's guilty flow
Over fields and down country lanes;
Gone is the world's emboldened stance
Made upright by the lancing sun,
Now cowered with fear in the shadowy nooks
Forgotten as night's tale is spun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem