I yearn, I yearn to see
The first sere yellow leaf
Falling from the tree
That greened so much this summer.
Sick with green
And mellow wantonness
And surfeiting I wish:
The first sere yellow leaf
To fall as soon.
For the first clap of thunder
I yearn so to hear:
And wish
That I am looking from the bastions old
Of Rabat or Mdina on the fields:
Then will I see (I hope)
Before me run the fingers of the light
And in the pleasure of that moment
My mind will pay anything for that photograph:
And will retain it for an easy recall.
And I want to hear the sea
Entering in between the clefts
That high and strange and bleak
This waning eve
In flat Mtahleb.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem