I hear you speak to me with news of goodness,
I hear you say the respites and relics of good,
My hearing stays tomorrow even, like the ghosts
Of a hundred men, the men who storm the basilica.
I must see this theory at work by the godliest prince,
Opening the doors to the realised work and deed;
The balls of leather and fighting are rolling like luxury,
Luxurious men are like the liars of this daytime.
I heard the obnoxious sound of a strutting public,
Crowds disfigured the Caesar, a man of the senate
And imperial grace, a fighter of sorting and delegating,
Little is the imagination of the godly men who dine.
Must I see you engulf a proud goat with steel teeth?
The armies of the centurions are too many today;
The legions will be led by legates of pride and stupor,
Caesar himself shall hear me speak to the carts of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem