Summer is Gone-- anonymous, 9th Century, Ireland. Translated by Kuno Meyer
My tidings for you: the stag bells,
Winter snows, summer is gone.
Wind high and cold, low the sun,
Short his course, sea running high.
Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone --
The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry.
Cold has caught the wings of birds:
Seasons of ice -- these are my tidings.
Other translations: Here, here, here.
The round up is at Hip Writer Mama.
2 comments:
I, for one, am a little over the summer heat and humidity. Check with me again in February, but right now I'm ready for some cold and snow!
Gorgeous. I'm sitting here in San Diego sun, but that poem just gave me chills.
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