Ouverture
Det er hvidt herude:
Kyndelmisse slaar sin Knude
Overmaade hvas og haard —
Hvidt forneden, hvidt foroven,
Puddret tykt staaer Træ i Skoven,
Som udi min Abildgaard.
Det er tyst herude:
Kun med sagte Pik paa Rude
Mælder sig den smaa Musvit.
Der er ingen Fugl, som synger;
Finken kun paa Qvisten gynger,
Seer sig om og hvipper lidt.
Det er koldt herude:
Ravne skrige, Ugler tude,
Søge Føde, søge Læ.
Kragen spanker om med Skaden
Højt paa Rygningen af Laden,
Skele til det tamme Kræ.
Hanen sig opsvinger
Paa en Snemand; sine Vinger
Kladskende han sammenslaaer.
Krummer Halsen stolt og galer —
Hvad monstroe han vil den Praler?
Hvis endda om Tøe han spaaer!
Inderlig jeg længes
Efter Vaar, men Vintren strænges;
Atter Vinden om til Nord!
Kom Sydvest, som Frosten tvinger!
Kom med dine Taagevinger!
Kom og løs den bundne Jord!
Overture
Out here all is whiteness
Candlemas’s knot gains tightness
Keener, crueller than before –
Tree trunk’s white and white its crown is,
Thickly clad its woodland ground is,
As my orchard’s snow-clad floor.
Out here all is still now:
Just a soft peck at the window
Marks the advent of a tit.
Not a single bird is singing;
On its branch the finch is swinging,
Looks around and rocks a bit.
Out here cold is gnawing:
Owls are hooting, ravens cawing,
Seeking food and shelter too.
With the magpie, crow’s out strutting
On the barn roof ridge out-jutting,
Eye the tame birds in full view.
Up the cock soars, perching
On a snowman; with his lurching
Wings he clatters as before.
Tilts his head back loudly crowing –
What his boast is, there’s no knowing?
If he’d only promise thaw!
For the spring I’m yearning,
But the winter’s such hopes spurning;
To new north winds it gives birth!
South-west winds that frost can banish
Come with mist-wings – make it vanish!
Come and free the captive earth!
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