Autumn's discards.
A baron's; king's!
Displays of wealth, disgust more
So light flung when.
With each garment's
Dyes, and spun weave
Costliest, of cochineal.
Of the golden.
Jealous peasants!
With branch for limb
Muse: ' could we, stripping, these slip
Into. Ah then! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem