Clambered often quite indignant
Up and down just like a squirrel;
From the wings of a poor night-owl
Roughly plucked out several feathers;
And while mocking the old fir-tree
Rocked himself upon its summit.
"High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree!
I with thee would ne'er my lot change.
Firmly rooted must thou stand there,
And take everything that happens;