I mused; foolhardy. I messed around
With sentiment attached to place.
Now soul makes off with my faculties!
Essence parts with my name and face!
Down the otway's surge of tranquil-sipped
Memories, fern-chilled. Into the bay
Apollo, as alluvial gold
That flow. Whence comes then my dismay?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem