My mind grows barren in my decline
Rich Images turn pale dulled by time;
Once love was a sickness, a desperation,
An obsessive thought, clutched in possession;
I escaped a cruel prison sick with hate
With an improbabiiity that defied both chance and fate;
Now I sit at ease with my last Duchess to date;
Watching TV, the hour grows late.
The wild passion, the mad pursuits;
The antic years of my prolonged youth; '
Has tapered off into tired contemplation;
I am exhausted by such enervation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem