A thousand miles and more to the westward,
Somewhere the city lies,
I strain mine eyes for the glare reflected
Up in the starlight skies.
I strain mine ears for the roll and roaring,
The laugh of the passers by,
But only the trees on the far horizon,
Only the open sky.
A plover’s call in the stillness rises,
A lamb in the marshes bleats—
But O! for the lights and the passing faces!
And O! for the city’s streets!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem