How marvellous this bit of green
I hold, and soon shall throw away!
Its subtle veins, its vivid sheen,
Seem fragments of a god's array.
In all the hidden toil of earth,
Which is the more laborious part-
To rear the oak's enormous girth,
Or shape its leaves with poignant art?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem