Solitude in childhood, long and warring
Sad, staggering days under the vile hand were heavily baring
From early days of childhood I could not had been
As others were, nor could I had seen
The world as other kids played, laughed and saw, I could not bring
My passions for expansion and knowledge, from within me blocked spring
Confused, bewildered and oppressed not knowing from which source I had taken
My pain and sorrow, days of bright summer were dark; I could not awaken
My poor heart to the joy of innocence of others same tone
I had resorted to Nature; trees, groves, vast flowery meadows; all by myself alone
Then in my late childhood in the dawn
Of a most stormy dire life was drawn
And yet my sanity I had kept; from every depth of good and ill
Which is a mystery which binds me today still
From which source I drew power; torrents, and fountains
From the red cliffs or sapphire hue at dawn of the mountains
From the sun that around me rolled
In its warm summer tint of gold
From the swift lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying shooting by
From the roaring thunder, and the wild storm
And the cloud that took the unusual form
When the rest of heaven was calm and blue
Of a demon in my rocking distorted view
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely written, Nero. Thanks for sharing