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!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
