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poem for pastors

sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
poco parque que paso a través
plantemos
se levantó y el ámbar era la puesta del sol en el río
un destello del oro en gloom y gris
las naves están mintiendo en la bahía
no se aflija que encima
él habla no bien
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla
de'bil-se va volando la canción
en y encendido
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas

 



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