To such a race, man-browed, all else
For blood's rampage hot throbs round;
And through a so-naming "wild's call"
Its own gore-toothed breaths resound
What they as outer wastes tell of
Of Nature, sage in its hurt
Allowed as wind to pass unnoticed.
Piny-heard, for it to blurt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem