'I should go mad,' he said, 'in such a place!
The lack of company, the loneliness!
Nothing but trees to stare you in the face;
Nothing to do; no life; no pep; no pace!
I'd die of melancholy.' I said 'Yes?'
'Why, yes,' said he. 'The suburbs can be bad.
But this? Why, heavens, man! I should go mad.'
'What do you do?' he said. 'How find a way
To pass the time? Of course, the country's great
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem