From the German by Charles Timothy Brooks
SICKLES sound;
On the ground
Fast the ripe ears fall;
Every maiden’s bonnet
Has blue blossoms on it:
Joy is over all.
Sickles ring,
Maidens sing
To the sickle’s sound;
Till the moon is beaming,
And the stubble gleaming,
Harvest...
From the German by Charles Timothy Brooks
SUMMER joys are o’er;
Flowerets bloom no more,
Wintry winds are sweeping;
Through the snow-drifts peeping,
Cheerful evergreen
Rarely now is seen.
Now no plumèd throng
Charms the wood with song;
Ice-bound trees are glittering;
Merry snow-birds, twittering,...
