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The storm wind covers the sky Whirling the fleecy snow drifts, Now it howls like a wolf, Now it is crying, like a lost child, Now rustling the decayed thatch On our tumbledown roof, Now, like a delayed traveller, Knocking on our window pane. Our wretched little cottage Is gloomy and dark. Why do you sit all silent Hugging the window, old gran? Has the howling of the storm Wearied you, at last, dear friend? Or are you dozing fitfully Under the spinning wheel's humming? Let us drink, dearest friend To my poor wasted youth. Let us drink from grief - Where's the glass? Our hearts at least will be lightened. Sing me a song of how the bluetit Quietly lives across the sea. Sing me a song of how the young girl Went to fetch water in the morning. The storm wind covers the sky Whirling the fleecy snow drifts Now it howls like a wolf, Now it is crying, like a lost child. Let us drink, dearest friend To my poor wasted youth. Let us drink from grief - Where's the glass? Our hearts at least will be lightened.
some of my poeams tell me what you think
If I walk the noisy streets, Or enter a many thronged church, Or sit among the wild young generation, I give way to my thoughts. I say to myself: the years are fleeting, And however many there seem to be, We must all go under the eternal vault, And someone's hour is already at hand. When I look at a solitary oak I think: the patriarch of the woods. It will outlive my forgotten age As it outlived that of my grandfathers'. If I dandle a young infant, Immediately I think: farewell! I will yield my place to you, For I must fade while your flower blooms. Each day, and every hour I habitually follow in my thoughts, Trying to guess from their number The year which brings my death. And where will fate send death to me? In battle, in my travels, or on the seas? Or will the neighbouring valley Receive my chilled ashes? And although to the senseless body It is indifferent wherever it rots, Yet close to my beloved countryside I still would prefer to rest. And let it be, beside the grave's vault That young life forever will be playing, And impartial, indifferent nature Eternally be shining in beauty.
