on castle-walls
and as shadows lead-grey
sliding stealthily
on the thick torch-lit
walls
Ancient times! how many a joy
how many a thrill
these times do not yield
yet you yield
and in the seas below
the castle ancient roar
blue and white spume
together mixed:
and over at the cliff edge
stands
A Figure with a Scythe
sarcastically.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem