(
svensk version)
~*~ The Christmas Fairy ~*~
*This is an old Christmas poem that is always
on our christmas-must bottles in the north like
the Santa on the CocaCola bottles with the first
verse on it and old wintry pictures of Santa.
Enjoy! ~*~
Midwinternight's cold is hard,
the stars glimmer and shine.
All asleep in lonely farm
deep during the hour of midnight.
The Moon travels it's silent path,
the snow shines white upon fir, pine and heart,
the snow shines white upon our roofs.
Only the Christmas Fairy wakes from the woods.
~*~
Standing there in grey at the barn's door,
grey against the white drift,
looking, as many winters before,
up towards the moon's disc,
looking to the forest, where pine and fir
draws around the farm it's shadowy girdle,
brooding, alas it seems of no avail,
over a peculiar riddle held in veils.
~*~
Brings his hand through beard and hair,
shakes his head and hood - - -
>>no, that riddle is too much to bear,
no, it can not be understood>> - - -
Chases, as he usually do, shortly
like searching thoughts away,
goes to arrange and peddle,
goes to attain but not to meddle.
~*~
Goes to provision-shed and tool-shed,
tries all locks on the doors - - -
the cows dream at the moon's lightspread
summerdreams inside the stalls;
oblivious of harness and whip and rein
Horsie in the stable too has a dream:
the crib, he leans over,
is filled with scenting clover; - - -
~*~
Goes to the fence for lamb and sheep,
sees, how they are asleep therein;
goes to the hens, where the cock's afeet
proud on his highest pin;
Rex upon kennel's straw is well,
awakes and slightly wags his tail,
Rex knows his fairy friend,
and that he is his best hairy friend.
~*~
*Santa's little helper runs to turn the next page
*Santa HO HO HO's and continues...
~*~
The Fairy finally lurks to see
the beloved gentry,
a long while, found had he
they hold his endeavours in glory;
children's chamber he then tip-toe
to see the sweet little ones he approach,
no-one must of that ill regard:
that is his greatest reward.
~*~
So he has seen them, father and son,
clean through many lines
slumber as children; but where from
do they come down through the skies?
Soon generation succeed to generation there,
bloomed, aged, went - - - but where?
The Riddle, that can not be
understood, then came back to me!
~*~
The Fairy wanders to the barn's loft:
there he has his home and hold
high up on the hay-loft in it's fragrance so soft,
near by the nest of the swallow;
now, alas, the swallow's dwelling lies empty,
but in the spring with leaf and flower she's likely
to come again to fill the void,
by the dear mate followed.
~*~
Then she always has much to twitter
about plenty a souvenir from the travels,
nothing however about the riddle,
that stirs in the fairy's marbles.
Through an opening in the barn's wall, down
on the old man's beard the moon it shines,
the streak it glimmers upon his beard,
the fairy he broods and it puzzles his head.
~*~
Quiet lies the woods and the whole country round,
life out there is frozen,
from the far and the stream's fall, sounds
alone the low silent rushing.
The Fairy listens and, half dreaming,
thinks he then hears time's streaming,
wonders, whereto it shall go,
wonders, where the fountain may flow.
~*~
Midwinternight's cold is hard,
the stars glimmer and shine.
All asleep in lonely farm
good until the first morninglight.
The Moon lowers it's silent path,
the snow shines white upon fir, pine and heart,
the snow shines white upon our roofs.
Only the Christmas Fairy wakes from the woods.
~*~
~*~*Written by Viktor Rydberg 1881.~*~
~*~Rendered by Lord Parzifal at Christmas Holidays 1996.~*~
Be well,
LordParzifal
