In the long night I go out in despair
And sit on this knoll lighted by
The moon face in my hands.
Before me stretches a low hill beyond
A plain: the hill obscures and hides
The plain that lies after it.
I saw knives flying slow in the night air
I saw hands red with blood and white despair
I saw red dusk pacing the night in his lair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem