Robert Frost

La lluvia le dijo al viento:
-Empuja tú que yo azoto-
Y tanto hirieron el soto
Que de las flores altivas,
Doblegadas pero vivas,
Yo sentía el sufrimiento.

I have wished a bird would fly away,

And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door

When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.

The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong

In wanting to silence any song.