Under the Great Oaken Tree
Each night, awakened by thy shivering whisper. I look around but see only the gentle,
yawning and starry sky under the great oak. The wind soughs softly the sweeping lea,
round heights arise before me.
Each night, I look up to the starry sky and hear thy soft-spoken voice amongst the
blooming lea.
Where are thou? Thou promised me delight, but the days are getting more and more lugubrious.
The Corncockles are withering, the great oak sheds its scarlet leaves.
First snowflakes fall onto my forehead and the strong, frigid wind blows from the north.
Thou wander in my dreams, like a spirit without a purpose.
Each night, I have to feed the fire to evict the piercing frost.
The snow drifts higher, veiling me under the snowbanks.
Where are thou? I've been waiting, waiting for delight, but thou are missing.
I'm so jaded that i can nearly breathe. But still I hear thy pretty chant.