Weariness and Age,
Weariness and Age,
Those craftsman on the payroll of time.
Have now set up home in the rooms of the Soul,
And their authority duly begun.
For their whisper their creed,
On our disquiet they feed,
Thereby like Atlas our Autumn days run.
Weariness and Age,
Weariness and Age,
The Coda that comes to us all.
How they torment and press,
And to the Heart make it known.
Of the grief and the cost,
From the Souls we have lost,
And the love that was unwaveringly shown.
Weariness and Age,
Weariness and Age,
The dusk after interminable day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem