Tho we seem to reach the turning
And the Government is yearning
To brings us swift releif, and make a cut
In the burden of the taxes,
As fond hope within us waxes
Sounds, like the knell of doom, the fatal 'but.'
Oh, that stultifying 'but'!
Every avenue is shut
That leads to that Nirvana that men must believe in still;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem