The month of December, of short days and long nights,
there are ravens among the young plants, rushes on the moor,
the bee and the nightingale are silent…
Mis Rhagfyr, byrddydd, hirnos,
brain yn egin, brwyn yn rhos,
tawel gwenyn ac eos..
Welsh, Verses of the Months, c.15th century
Irish Poem about Winter from The Guesting of Athirne
In the black season of deep winter
a storm of waves is roused
along the expanse of the world.
Sad are the birds of every meadow-plain
(except the ravens that feed on crimson blood)
at the clamour of fierce winter;
it is rough, black, dark, misty.
Dogs are vicious in cracking bones;
the iron pot is put on the fire
after the dark black day.
Dubaib rathib rogemrid
robarta tond tūargabar
īar tóib betha blāi.
Brōnaig eōin cach īathmaige
acht fīaich fola forderge
fri fūaim gemrid gairg,
Garb dub dorcha dethaite.
Dīumusaig coin cnāmchomaig,
Curt[h]ir ar æd īarnlestar
īar lō dorcha dub.
(Original early Middle Irish edited by Kuno Meyer, English translation by Kenneth Jackson)
What a beautiful blog. Go h-íontach! I'm delighted to have found it.ReplyDelete
Go raibh maith agat. Your comment made me feel warm to my toes on this cold and frosty morning!ReplyDelete