Within a windowed niche of that high hall
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night.
Come, Shepherd, and again renew the quest.
And birds sit brooding in the snow.
Continuous as the stars that shine,
When all men were asleep the snow came flying
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem