Why vindications of death's oblivion,
Grant scholarships for the contemptible sheep,
Of inferiority ingrained skin-deep?
It's conceit, prejudiced about fortune...
Whereas they must know their thresholds' bedouin,
Gormandizing the scholarly dustheap,
For a social backsliding very cheap,
Like to non-chosen lineages gladden.
In the end they'll share studies with the dregs,
Of a country prison that for punch begs,
Sods of a loving enthusiasm kind will,
Never start them; more of an obedient,
Conformist will to carry off the skill,
And to end number of a trend's segment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem