Brightly on your heads is shining,
Then remember me, the Storm-wind,
Who to-day, with boisterous fury
As his harbinger swept past."
Speaking thus, he shook the tree-tops
With great roughness; boughs are snapping,
Branches falling, and a thick, fine
Rain of pine-leaves crackles downward.
But the fir-trees, quite indignant,
Took small notice of this homage.