None of its blown shade
Shakes for a concern.
No one thing falls off;
Least hardened armour!
Still not relenting
In airs' storm-picture.
Upward all the way
From its ancient root
Not one needle's wince
Of a perturbment!
More so from out bough
Of climbing's extent!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem