for tystnaden i blanad vildmarkstrakt. har drojde du vid kojans eld
och dromde om en var
och skrev din sang och holl vid milan vakt. nu porlar den i varens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin din sommarang!
jag anar spar av karva steg
som trotta spelman tog
och rosors blod
i ton fran sorgens strang. an sjunger vinden vida
nar hosten brinner rod
din sang om livets villkor
om kamp for hem och brod. nu porlar den i varens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin
din sommarang!
jag anar spar av karva steg
som trotta spelman tog
och rosors blod
i ton fran sorgens strang. du vandrare
du speleman
du kung i tiggardrakt
du brann i natten fylld av kold och is. den eld som brann den varmer an
din saga och din dikt
om evig sol och sommarparadis. nu porlar den i varens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin din sommarang!
jag anar spar av karva steg
som trotta spelman tog
och rosors blod
i ton fran sorgens strang. an sjunger vinden vida
nar hosten brinner rod
din sang om livets villkor
om kamp for hem och brod. nu porlar den i varens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin
din sommarang!
jag anar spar av karva steg
som trotta spelman tog
och rosors blod
i ton fran sorgens strang. the snow fell white in winter's woods
where foxes stood on guard
in silence in the timber-cutters gash
in patient watch you also stood
as charcoal slowly charred
composing verse while embers turned to ash. loud ripples from the river-bed. the forest stretches wide. the busy bees are buzzing now it's spring. i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride
and roses bleed in tune with sorrow's strings. the wild winds sing their sombre tones
when autumn turns to red. the song of tribulation
the fight for daily bread. loud ripples from the river-bed. the forest stretches wide
the busy bees are buzzing now it's spring. i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride
and roses bleed in tune with sorrow's strings. a wanderer
a minstrel man
a king
though clad in rags. a charcoal burner
midst the snow and ice. the flame you lit still spreads your heat
in stories and in verse
on sunlight in a summer paradise. loud ripples from the river-bed. the forest stretches wide. the busy bees are buzzing now it's spring. i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride
and roses bleed in tune with sorrow's strings. the wild winds sing their sombre tones
when autumn turns to red. the song of tribulation
the fight for daily bread. loud ripples from the river-bed. the forest stretches wide
the busy bees are buzzing now it's spring. i sense the sound of heavy tread