Why have you been so cold, consuming Life,
That has swallowed my youth in scathing Strife
For nothing- you motley, wild clay,
Have you ever sat out a sinless day?
Soon love as mourn; to act and err;
And thereupon distract faith to despair.
For what grand plan draws out your stay,
Save being a slave of dark Desire’s play?
There are more, you say, from the martyred maids
Or the winged, haloed saints and wise old sages-
Like those virtuous pagans pining in Hades.
Why, we have no wings, nor sing well in cages.
Those ages are gone, now I let you go!
A man you should not miss, at any rate-
I am no Saint Ambrose nor Michelangelo.
To be set on my feet sans blessings is my fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem