There is a troublesome state of mind,
when I hate the first morning light
and feel rebellious, bitter and unkind.
There is a troublesome state of mind,
when in everything I something wrong find,
a type of spite that nothing turns aright.
There is a troublesome state of mind,
when I hate the first morning light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem