What prevents us, in tracking
Which hour is the sun's last
Dipping, as irretrievably grave;
From out those bright worldviews?
For think; up out its abyss
Night-time's no more upcast
Life responsive, what's joy-woke;
Numbly seized up of dews.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very thought-provoking poem for me, but wonderfully put in this subtile poem