Oh! Juliah, awake from thy dying
glooming-frigid-cold slumber
for thee not a dead man awaiting and sighing
by his hungry chamber.
Let the fire place have its fair share
of that moth-eaten stare;
Let the dreariness of thy intimate eyrie
give way to nature's airy.
Oh! Juliah, young and graced with tomorrow,
uphold the liveliness of fantasy
like a god storming the desperate's burrow
with seasoned ecstasy.
Let go thy father's ugly roaring guzzling critters
starving them to waste gutters;
Let reach every heart the light away thou stowed
for dark and cruddy is the road.
Oh! Juliah, the warm and delicate string of violin,
touch these tenuous souls
with the harmony of thy breathing fiddling
to caress their aging tolls.
Let thy dancing hands guide to that mountain
where that humane cling fountains.
Let no more man be man
but men be man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem