Goldsmith wrote Deserted Village,
Now again reduced to tillage ;
Once happiest village of the plain,
Place now you look for it in vain ;
There but one man he doth make rich,
And hundreds struggle in the ditch ;
' Ill fare the land to many ills a prey
Where wealth accumelates but men decay.'
His honest Vicar of Wakefield
Forever he will pleasure yield.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem