While the boughs be trembling
In anger
Look at them with piteous eyes
They will propense be
To subside their anger.
Just while the boughs
Tremble with fear
Sit below silent and
By you falling
The sere leaves stealthy
Hear.
Now the razor of cold
Walks round the threshing floor
And the corn hides
Trembling in
Both anger and fear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem