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modern poetry

un destello del oro en gloom y gris
melancolĂ­a, azul era
el aire es lleno de amanecer y de resorte
si él
la hija, arte del thou viene morir
no puedo sentir siempre su greatness
no esté enojado con mí
compuesto de loveliness solamente
flor blanca de la espuma, flor roja de la llama
éste es el arsenal
los pequeños rezos blancos
levantado de los muertos
encima de los prados ricos con maĂ­z
estrella-polvo y luz vaporosa

 



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