In Winter
Beneath the snow the mosses sleep
Amid the forest's silence;
Above, the stately birches keep
Unbroken vigils.
The spruce trees dream of summer hours
And birds that carrolled sweetly,
Of gentle winds and smiling flowers
That died too quickly.
Lyric
Tell me, tell me, gentle stars,
Ever watchful, ever bright,
From your stations in the sky
Do you see my love to-night?
White the snow beneath my feet,
Whiter far her holy breast;
Peaceful are the mighty woods,
But her eyes are soft with rest.
Sweet the scent of spruce and pine,
Sweeter, though, her fragrant breath;
Tell her, tell her, gentle stars,
I am hers alone till death.