What madness took me that I at this stage
Of life, at this progression of the years
Should so speak to a woman half my age?
Was it the gnawing doubt of time, which fears
The changing seasons, hastening to their end
And, looking back, beholds the day with tears?
Or do I simply seek another friend?
Some boon-companion, who, in lively youth
Could, by her gentle voice, my view amend
And, through her words, declare to me the truth
And say, I am still young, though not carefree
Do I appear dishevelled and uncouth
Here in this prison of antiquity
Because too old for her? Is it obscene
For me to imagine how my life could be
Seeking my youth in her deep eyes of green?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem