Ancient Winter

When the last ice

Of this old winter,

Which seemed to know the secret

Of eternal life,

Melts carefully away,

I will wake up

From sleep


And when the sun, forgetful,

Warms again towards

The grey, exhausted Earth,

When rains of spring

Have washed it clean of sorrow,

I will remember

My face


When nights fill slowly

With songs of love and heartbreak,

And days become

But impatient rehearsals

For warm evenings,

I will recall

My age


When trees, like ocean tides,

With life and power swell,

When eyes begin to hurt from all

The beauty before them,

I’ll look at my white hands,

My hair, like frozen waves,

And call myself at last


By my forgotten name;

I’ll tell myself:

‘Go back to sleep,

Oh ancient,

Ancient Winter’