Breathing in the fresh air near  the trees of serpentine purple,
To inhume  the dolour of my  dejected loneliness..
In the   distressing ire I am that   lacustrine,,
Listening the soft lay in the beautiful lea..
People know, my wounds are   plumbless,,
No tears in my  orbs  ,   seems I am    mage....
People  here are  serpents  who  don't  slay,,
But  are  giving  the  bad  sempiternal   gashes...
Now  look  at  my   stygian  tenebrous  visage,,
From which poesy is flowing with a plashing sound...
You,,  know   their  life   was  in   pitch_dark,,,
Now is lucent and niveous, orgulous!! what I did,,
Those  toys  of  clay   rend   me   savagely,,,
Now my vermilion  ichor exhibits the beautiful limn.
People  of  this  era  are  pitiless,, my  dear!!!
Are deceiving ere and after, not caring for eld..