Like as one, erewhile pursuing,
Shouts him o'er his captured foe,
'Spite of all thy fleetest doing,
Now, thou Slave! behind me go.'
So doth Time, austere transmuter,
Following, following, fast and fast,
Lay strong hand on forward Future;
Then consigns him to the Past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem