Nocturnes brimming
With the glory of moonlight;
And the murmur of insects;
And the beating of wings;
And soft layers of sadness;
Nocturnes studded with stars;
In the blue black immensity;
In my mind they are
Shadows, shapes
That won't stay fixed.
Light clouds transforming
Into fantastic beasts
And filling the sky.
Chopin composed 21.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem