In black hoods
Racing the high woods
Hill and dale
in hand mugs of ale
of ghost and shroud
the crowd
lamented all aloud.
O bring no thunder
Let in Art be no blunder
But what asserted be
Is part of that vast Ocean Sea
That civilization be.
The Olympian gods, a thinker
From the heavens descending
With bright Minerva wending
The woods below,
The hamlet to the right
The other to the left
And river and stream
Flowing.
Hear the numbers flow
And the music-notes blow
The fugue nocturnal of
The lover-Night
The fugue nocturnal of
The star-crossed-light
The fugue nocturnal of
Nymph and faun and
Satyr, night of the
Dramatists
In black hoods
Racing the high woods
Hill and dale
in hand mugs of ale
of ghost and shroud
the crowd
lamented all aloud
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem