Sleep, thou, O sun; slip down into the sea;
The wane water will nurse thy feeble ray,
Thy blazing fire fading into grey;
No, never will I see thy light in me.
He is dead, the great Apollo; downward gone
Into the House of Hades, bound by our hands.
Night comes; the waning moon will wail the sun
And we wait where we all meet all our ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem