* * *
A mountain breeze his cradle rocks.
A torrent racing by
And avalanche’s thudding shocks
Provide the lullaby.
May our grown sons as bravely ride
As mountaineers of yore,
And eagles with an equal pride
Above our young men soar!
* * *
Down my window raindrops pour
And I hear the thunder roar:
Passions set my soul alight—
Joy and Anguish, Love and Spite.
Joy I’ll part with to a friend,
Anguish in my verse expend,
Love I lavish—help yourself!
Spite I leave to chide myself.
* * *
All day it pours. I sit indoors
And through the window pane
Watch houses, streets and distant peaks
Dissolve in mist and rain.
Where can the clear horizon be?
The sky is overcast.
I close my weary eyes, and see
Nothing but the past.
* * *
Time, you oppress me and cruelly test me
With sad revelation and scorn.
Today it’s with yesterday’s faults you invest me,
My forts of illusion you storm.
Who could foresee that old truths would be shaken?
What are you grinning at, Time?
The wrong path I took was the one you had taken,
Your words I re-echoed in rhyme!
* * *
I do not wait upon a word,
Nor beg it to be written.
It must come willingly, unspurred,
As does a tear—unbidden;
Alighting unexpectedly
On the expectant pages
As, unannounced, a friend steps in
Whom I’ve not seen for ages.
* * *
Our hillmen with a noble gesture
Would seal their friendship at a stroke
By swopping gifts—a blade or dagger,
Their finest horse, or finest cloak.
My friends, the bond of fellow-feeling
With gifts of song I reinforce,
For poetry is my dearest weapon,
My finest riding cloak and horse.