nights ago that the Muses have brought
their veils, or dresses
his harp is no longer seen in the distance
or their melodious voices
limited to silence every night
While in vain,
take my pencil and paper and I hope
with open Fauser
get a ripe, juicy fruit, wanting to get their songs
deified.
The peer wishing
hope its fine white skin ajar
infinite darkness of the vault at night.
Oh, dear Muses
their faces and songs
wrap and rise night and indomitable
irascible
where
resists sleep like a colt which has never been mounted
. Oh dear muses
Why was absent
and leave me in the rest of my life
without rudder or compass or astrolabe. Exhale
his last breath perfumed
cover my body with his eyes
at least, to die in the hot wing
of his divine inspiration.
