Wider than realms higher by far
in intellect and its worth
into the clouds Minerva called
unto her the bent aged Poet Seer:
looked up the Earth in awe
no clarion calls trumpeted
yet the verses of the Poet Seer
into the background with a hundred
tunes ringing were heard
in a soft undertone.
Come, come, you satyrs
you, bacchanalians of the ivied heads
come.
Nymphs of woods and streams, and
Sileni, fauns and dryads,
goblins green and mischievous.
Come.
Come.
From your tired nocturnal eyes
as with a wand
Minerva tears off the sleep
and waking full and strong
her Poet Seer to honor.
He heeds not much the honors
nor wills nor gloats nor wants.
Yet
Still they honor him from cloud
to cloud:
and festive season hold and court
for
wider than realms higher by far
in intellect and its worth
into the clouds Minerva called
unto her the bent aged Poet Seer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem