The crows shriek loud and whirl with frantic wings toward the town: soon snow will shroud— blessed the one who still has home around! Now you stand numb and still, gazing back—ah, how long it's been! What fool's mad will fled to the world before winter's keen? The world—a door to thousand deserts, mute and icy cold! Who lost what you bore finds nowhere rest, no haven to hold. Now pale you stand, cursed to roam the winter's endless way, like drifting sand— or smoke that seeks yet colder skies each day. Fly, bird, and croak your song in tones the desert creatures know! Conceal, you joke, your bleeding heart in ice and scornful show! The crows shriek loud and whirl with frantic wings toward the town: soon snow will shroud— woe to him who has no home, alone!
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