We decry, what on by us
Too loudly and too long
And darkly melancholic
Drags, if half deranged, frantic
Its moody self along.
Not them! Who do find a strange
Relatable comfort
In each of its outbursts, wild.
Wandering as love's exiled;
Or hard to befriend sort.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem