Tausend kalte Winter

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O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind, Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist, And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, To thee the spring will be a harvest time. O thou, whose only book has been the light Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on O thou, whose only book has been the light Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on Night after night when phaebus was away, To thee the spring shall be a triple morn. O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind, Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist, And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars, To thee the spring shall be a harvest time. O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind, Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist, O thou, whose only book has been the light Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on Night after night when phaebus was away, To thee the spring shall be a triple morn. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, And yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the evening listens. He who saddens at thought of idleness cannot be idle, And he's awake who thinks himself asleep. O thou who bent in all the autumn-storms, Like the trees at the moor amidst the woeful winds. To thy wretched heart the spring shall be a triple morn - Alas! I still long for it! I long for it!

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Nov 13, 2025