Winter brings tempests hoar and frost and ire
Amidst the white-frothed waves in tempests loud
And on the bough most distant from the cold
The owl shelters her ruffled feathers from the frost.
The wild loud wind how it churns the lake’s calm
And prints its bosom with echoing waves
That frenzied leap and go as in a trance:
And when the night its silence deems to wave
With its gold scepter lo! The thunder-bolt
Of the lightning is heard, the flash, the cold
And roars o’er dale and field its sound to town.
Yet this is nothing to the storms that roar
Within my breast my lover’s breast all hoar.
Ah! Love, love, love
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem