Everywhere the tightening ice, the brittle hoarfrost;
the supple grassblades are beaten down.
The earth lies dead under an ice-hard shell,
the trees carry thick soft snow on their high leaves.
Running streams are diked by ice-crusts,
the thickening river wears a heavy skin,
its weight slowing the waters, the currents frozen,
as if punished for leaving their right road.
In the middle of the river a crystal iceberg floats.
We do not want to go under, or over!
The rough swollen river roars like the North wind:
who can find passage through this battling water?
But now, if the warm wind were to rise.
which at Creation was sent over the waters,
and if you called on the Almighty with fervent prayers,
then you would grant me, as I know you wish,
good fortune -- and for you I will prepare my soul,
and obey in all things. Dear God, I would do anything to please you!