25.WHERE ARE THE SONGBIRDS?
Where are the songbirds of the summer vanished?—
They fled o'er southern surf-capes long ago.
Where are the blossoms of the June fields banished?—
They lie in their dark graves beneath the snow.
They fled o'er southern surf-capes long ago.
Where are the blossoms of the June fields banished?—
They lie in their dark graves beneath the snow.
Hushed is all song, except the chill wind chanting
Over the snowy hills and on the shore,
Stirring the silent seafowl with its ranting,
Rocking the headlands with its hollow roar.
Over the snowy hills and on the shore,
Stirring the silent seafowl with its ranting,
Rocking the headlands with its hollow roar.
Gone are all flowers, except the death-pale petals
Painted by frosts upon the frozen pane,
And, where blue ice-plains gleam like mirrored metals,
Flowers of magic in a moonlight-lane.
Painted by frosts upon the frozen pane,
And, where blue ice-plains gleam like mirrored metals,
Flowers of magic in a moonlight-lane.
Far to the south the absent songbird lingers;
Deep under snowy shrouds dead flowers lie;
Within, hearth-huddled, man warms tortured fingers;
Without are dreary drifts and iron sky.
Deep under snowy shrouds dead flowers lie;
Within, hearth-huddled, man warms tortured fingers;
Without are dreary drifts and iron sky.
From the Icelandic of Steingrimur Thorsteinsson.