Who can understand the pains of my solitude?
In this mysterious self-hearted land.
None, but I with similar magnanimous fortitude,
Can partake in my mute solemn band.
...
The roads look fresh and unendingly long,
Cooler the wind and its fragrance strong.
Back to Wordsworth age I belong,
Where nature was praised with natural song.
...
Like every man with different face,
Nurtured richly under its motherly grace,
with innocent dreams and without aspiration trace,
Did he ran his first poetic race.
...