Her first labour: making a globe
For the price of a silk-wrapped fly.
Her second, to trundle with it
Over meadow and furrow,
Grass-stem and straw.
Her third, to build for it
A firmament, and hang it there.
Her fourth, to watch, and wait
And guard, a goddess waning.
Her fifth, to tear apart the stars
And set her angels free.
And last, to be no more their world.
Their tabernacle the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem