Only the sound of music
Echoes from far away;
Happily ever the turning heart
Is cleft, from its broken quay.
Every peaceful retreating wave
Was once locked in memory's key,
Like a mournful tune at dawn
Grows fainter, passed over sea.
Oceans lave their bereft docks,
Lonesome of barge and sail-
No one ever is there to hear
When they break, in the stormy gale.
Days and nights, of sun and moon;
Spinning their endless tales,
While poor bodies go back to clay,
Beneath the trawling bells.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem