Surely now in the spring-time shall I waken my singing
And song shall blossom out of my lips,
Glowing, as gloweth the golden crocus of Zeus.
For the soft white flakes of the winter have covered me over
With a deep stillness not to be told,
And my heart hath gathered honey of many dreams.
Now may they blossom as flames, tawny and eager,
Shaking out their bright hair on the wind.
The soft wind that streameth through the long green, rippling grasses.
Yea, like a bee, my heart hath fed on the honey of flowers
And is made drunken, and full of strength,
Full of the blood-red wine that is fierce and exultant.
But ye have turned your faces from song and from dreaming,
Ye stirred in the winter and wakened,
Your grain was garnered and threshed, yet a hunger filled you.
But the breasts of Earth had filled me, mine eyes had garnered
Many-coloured may, and sweet, red apples,
Through every sense had I drunk up her strength, and was sated.
What have ye, O wise ones? The corn ye reaped ye shall sow,
Ye shall watch for rains and tempests;
Only I hearing the hail on the roofs shall be gladdened.
Ye, being mockers, said: What profiteth him his singing?
Ye stored not the sweetness in your hearts,
Ye are bent double with the burden of the past, fearful of Time.
Ye go forth into the furrows, but who shall come to the reaping?
Lo, now the golden grain falleth to earth!
Though ye be rich in this wise, yet are ye desolate.
I have gleaned in the hedgerows and wild glades of the forest,
And that sweetness sufficeth to me:
For sweet it is to feel the rain upon face and hair.
Surely ye have this day: but the wise sweetness in my heart
Is the honey of all days which ye have not.
So shall my soul mock you, when dying, lo! ye are empty.
Even so when I hungered ye gave me bread,
With hard words ye gave it me.
So give I this song unto you with hard words in mockery.