Falling beauty pales in nights unsleeping
whispered to my marker hedged in stone
fear not though the midnight breeze is weeping
for the moon tides the pattern of my soul.
Rolling waves embrace an inner silence
inflected by their rising harmony
pounding shores drumming steady violence
she calls them back and slowly they recede.
Monuments are built to gods and martyrs,
idle worship reprised in pageantry,
wars afloat in blood and human horror
rewritten by ignoble history.
Surging seas unleash a stalwart power,
tempestuous they rage in mystery;
penetrating, crumbling earthly towers
immense foundations washed out by the sea.
Innocence must brave the unknown silence;
purity will light the burnished eve,
cast me moon, redeem me from the violence,
in the beauty of your midnight weeping breeze.
Falling beauty pales in nights unsleeping
whispered to my marker hedged in stone
fear not though the midnight breeze is weeping
for the moon tides the pattern of my soul.
An interesting poem, that feels as if it speaking straight from the soul. Not the perspective of someone no longer living. Thank Immensely For Sharing! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This comes straight from the soul. Byron could not have penned it better.