Glide and glimmer
As the Bacchanalians
The waters will
To wear ivy on their
Heads
To-night
To-night
The glamour of the
Nightingales
To-night has waned
Alas! too early before
Strike of midnight.
They stopped suddenly.
On the advice
Of the wise owls.
Pigeons cooed instead
That came that night
Nestling in the boughs.
The dark hand
Stretched
In it the knife of Time
And labor of the years
Now
To desperation transformed
Barefaced
In the sacrifice to Beauty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem