Here rests her high head under the dirt and dust of my land
An evergreen flower killed by me – her own.
The fair applauded her rise from humble grains of sand,
But I killed her for reasons my own.
Large was His bounty upon her soul sincere,
Even heaven can’t recompense her loss to the world
So I rejoice in the misery that I have inflicted on all her dear,
As I gain further from hell the reigns of the underworld.
Not much farther I needed to see her merits disclosed,
But I blindly drew blood from her tenderness with glee
While her meek dear trembling alike in fear reposed
Their dead hopes in the cold bosoms of the Mother and Sri.