I CANNOT die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon,
And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die—but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality?
Marvellous poem. Death cannot approach a poet, so true a statement. And that Death could not, is corroborated by the fact that we read and Teasdale's poem even today, almost a century after her demise.
I CANNOT die, who drank delight From the cup of the crescent moon, And hungrily as men eat bread, Loved the scented nights of June. great imagination the crescent moon and wine flowing from it. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
May I invite you, my fellow poets, to read this poem in Malayalam on my page. My Translation.