Whither? Whither?
Whither are they going
Into the dark night?
With hooded cloaks
In black bedecked
And shining flames of red?
Why, why they pass
Through the thin alley
That winding leads
To the seashore?
Why not a word they speak?
Why do with furtive glance
They look each other?
Why in procession
With solemn steps they fend?
Why do I seem to hear
Gregorian chants this night
Quick wafted on the wind
From where they come
With hooded clothes
In black bedecked
And shining flames of red?
Ah! In the past
These figures seem to go:
And yet in present move
And methinks that I see
Another night, another troop
Like this dark night
With hooded clothes
And black bedecked
And shining flames of red
A hundred years from hence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem