The snow sank softly from dark footfalls,
In the tree-shadow
Lovers raise their rosy eyelids.
Star and night always follow the dark calls
Of the boatman;
And the oars gently keep stroke.
Soon beside a ruined wall
Turning green the temples of the solitary man.
Mountain ranges: blackness, silence and snow.
Red from the forest the hunt returns;
O the mossy looks of the prey.
Maternal stillness; beneath black firs
The sleeping hands are open wide,
When the cold moon appears in its decay.
O the birth of man. Nightly
Blue water roars in the rocky glen;
Sighing, the fallen angel spies his image;
Someone pale awakes in a musty room.
Are the glittering eyes of the stony hag.
Ah, the cry of a woman in labour!
Black-wingéd night stirs the brow of the boy,
Snow, that softly spills from purple cloud.