From sapling, in a wind gust
To child sprout, midst what blows
Woeful sounding, in all troubles;
Helped back up, Heaven knows!
Save this. Again as world's theme
Bell-rung o'er thronged hoorays:
'Fallen, fallen is Babylon! '
Godless rule. For our day's.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem