Must I, a muse,
Drink from the cup of quietus
Like the Master Sculptor?
Or, die this lurid, subtle, heroic death
Wished by Herodias
For her catharsis?
Or,
As Cicero,
Have my atruism guilotined
For scripting good verses?
Then, hereafter inquire: et tu my love?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem