A WOOD IN WINTER.
FROM THE ITALIAN.
Sweet, lonely wood, that like a friend art found
To soothe my weary thoughts that brood on woe,
While through dull days and short the north winds blow,
Numbing with winter’s breath the air and ground
Thy time-worn, leafy locks seem all around,
Like mine, to whiten with old age’s snow,
Now that thy sunny banks, where late did grow
The painted flowers, in frost and ice are bound.
As I go musing on the dim, brief light
That still of life remain, then I, too, feel
The creeping cold my limbs and spirits thrill;
But I with sharper frost than thine congeal;
Since ruder winds my winter brings, and nights
Of greater length, and days more scant and chill.
Anonymous Translation. Giovanni Della Casa, 1503–1556.