Hate them-hate them,
To their intellectual vanity;
Where their tune condemn,
Down fall into bestiality.
Thy look pale into my eyes,
Filth by my physical boon;
Suddenly all the plants died,
Under the cold of winter moon.
Still I see sparkles no more,
And statue myself upon the shore;
Still in peaceful loneliness I vows,
In peaceful loneliness I vows.
