WE will walk by the grating of the park,
When the Great Bear is growing dark,
And, as I wish it, you will wear
Among the ribbons of your hair
The flower called asphodel.
Your eyes in mine will be shining,
When the Great Bear is declining.-
And mine eyes will have the rays
Of the flower called asphodel.
Your eyes into mine will gaze,
And all my being shall with such
A wavering shake as fables tell
The mythic rock felt at the touch
Of the flower called asphodel.
translated by Jethro Bithell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem