I

Infant sun, forever born anew,
Rolls in snow with me, with light enriched.
Papa says: 'Come on, the sky is blue,
Let's go fetch some wood.' And so we hitched
To a sled our silver colt. And went!
Shining axe. In flames of snow, the day
Sliced by whetted sun-knives. Sound is spent.
Sparkling dust — our breath! We run — away,
Over silent steppe of sleeping bears,
Through the sunweb. Ringing fields aglow.
Yesternight has scattered all its stars,
Frozen now they lie, calm in the snow.

II

Forest. Fresh the glimmer on the trees
Breathes the howling of the wolves. Around,
Glowing echoes of the silence breeze,
Shoot hot arrows in my heart, resound.
Every snowflake is a bell of winter,
Touch it — and it rings, a paradox!
Till the ring splits in a thousand splinters,
From a snow tent comes a little fox,
He sticks out his tongue and disappears.
— 'Foxie, do not fear!' A spark that cracks
Warms my cheek and takes away the fear,
Till the sun sets in my father's axe.

III

To our quiet hut we travel back,
But my soul still straying in the forest.
Good old forest, calm and deep and black,
Warms it and includes it in his chorus.
Stars blown by the wind, sailing on high,
Crown me with their song, with sparks at play!
For the stars above I want to cry …
Till the forest's last tree fades away,
Just the ruts in snow, as in a bed.
Father's voice awakens me, we roam,
And I see: the moon is in our sled,
Traveling to the valley, to our home.