'Oh father, let us hence--for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:--
What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'
'Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem