At one wintry dark gloomy night,
A piercing cry rose to the height;
Form behind the stony rough wall,
Very thick, very old and very tall.
Then utter silence, hush prevailed,
The night sighed, the night wailed.
The delights hailed, the pleasures fell,
Upon each dungeon of the hell,
When the dawn cracked, the day broke,
Ill-fated cottagers began to eat well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem