Meganom

1 Still far the asphodels, grey-transparent Spring. Meanwhile, the sand rustles, the wave foams. But here, like Persephone, my soul joins the gentle circle, and in the realm of the dead, there were no seductive, sunburnt arms. 2 Why do we trust the boat with the heaviness of the funerary urn, and conclude the festival of black roses over amethystine water? My soul rushes there, to the cloudy cape of Meganom, and from there the black sail will return after the funeral. 3 How quickly clouds rush by in a sunless row and flakes of black roses drift under this windy moon. And, a bird of death and sobbing, the enormous flag of remembrance is dragged along the mournful border behind a cypress stern. 4 The sorrowful fan of past years unfolds with a rustle. My soul rushes there, to the cloudy cape of Meganom, where with dark trembling, an amulet was buried in the sand, and from there the black sail will return after the funeral.