What torment to my thoughts you crave
To dissenter me from my grave,
Far escalates our quib!
You’d violate such sacred box?
With claws you’d drum, assault my locks?
You mock, dark thoughts? Mere squib!
You take me for a sap, a fool?
With taunts so lame, yet feel you cruel,
Your day? O, it is done,
For as you dwell upon your plan
To rid yourself of higher man,
The battle is o’er, it’s won!
For one that plagues both night and day
Does own the soul whose mind wont stray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem