Wikiart Ovid in Exile, 1915 - Ion Theodorescu-Sion - WikiArt.org

So hard to please, gentle reader,
so unlike me, loose, thoughts astray
Hot, tonight,  as it was for the poet,
Ovid, exiled from Rome to the Black Sea.
So many exiled nights ago,
Go slow, I whisper, go slow.

Forebodings bring unstoppable shakings 
Like i have poisoned blood,
I think I have stolen your heart.
I never lie, except in bed. 
Frowned upon in your time and place, as in mine.

I will be true as our slender hearts depart reluctantly.
Exiled from life? No. These hillside fells turn many an eye,
many wish for this exile, this isolation.
A sudden flaming of the pulse shows me fighting
an urge to die. No, less of a tragedy, more frolicsome,
tread lightly, I whisper, tread lightly.

Time is borne better with age and infirmity.
I am nervous as a kitten:
I leap from the movement of a torch, distant thunder. 
This is all normal, being alone on the bank of a river, 
locked in that cell was hell.

My wounds I carry lightly I take my dog to hunt
beneath these trees it is still high summer.
We produce more in silence than those, like you,
who scamper like a wild horse born free. 
Life has a hard edge that adapts to nothing at all
Golden embers, I whisper, golden embers stand tall.