Your descent, Night; a healing o'er.
Like a compress for sun-beat eyes.
As its tone infers, sympathetic.
Assured; unrushed. When bloweth sighs.
Ah! The bindings preceeding it.
Life's a seized up automation.
When Noise, dictum of day, is quashed
Of its road-pressed circulation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem