O hour of my muse: why do you leave me, Wounding me by the wingbeats of your flight? Alone: what shall I use my mouth to utter? How shall I pass my days? And how my nights? I have no one to love. I have no home. There is no center to sustain my life. All things to which I give myself grow rich and leave me spent, impoverished, alone. Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 5 Mar 2021 8:37 PM | Viewed: 5958 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only $29.95 19.95!
For more information...