alexander rybak - till en vildmarkspoet lyrics
“till en vildmarkspoet”
och snã¶n fã¶ll vit i vinterskog
dã¤r rã¤ven stod p㥠lur
fã¶r tystnaden i blã¥nad vildmarkstrakt.
hã¤r drã¶jde du vid kojans eld
och drã¶mde om en vã¥r
och skrev din sã¥ng och hã¶ll vid milan vakt.
nu porlar den i vã¥rens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin din sommarã¤ng!
jag anar spã¥r av kã¤rva steg
som trã¶tta spelmã¤n tog
och rosors blod
i ton frã¥n sorgens strã¤ng.
ã„n sjunger vinden vida,
nã¤r hã¶sten brinner rã¶d,
din sã¥ng om livets villkor,
om kamp fã¶r hem och brã¶d.
nu porlar den i vã¥rens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin
din sommarã¤ng!
jag anar spã¥r av kã¤rva steg
som trã¶tta spelmã¤n tog
och rosors blod
i ton frã¥n sorgens strã¤ng.
du vandrare, du speleman,
du kung i tiggardrã¤kt,
du brann i natten fylld av kã¶ld och is.
den eld som brann den vã¤rmer ã¤n,
din saga och din dikt
om evig sol och sommarparadis.
nu porlar den i vã¥rens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin din sommarã¤ng!
jag anar spã¥r av kã¤rva steg
som trã¶tta spelmã¤n tog
och rosors blod
i ton frã¥n sorgens strã¤ng.
ã„n sjunger vinden vida,
nã¤r hã¶sten brinner rã¶d,
din sã¥ng om livets villkor,
om kamp fã¶r hem och brã¶d.
nu porlar den i vã¥rens tid
din fors i milsvid skog!
nu surrar den av bin
din sommarã¤ng!
jag anar spã¥r av kã¤rva steg
som trã¶tta spelmã¤n tog
och rosors blod
i ton frã¥n sorgens strã¤ng.
[authorized english version of the song]
the snow fell white in winterâ´s woods
where foxes stood on guard,
in silence in the timber-cutters gash
in patient watch you also stood,
as charcoal slowly charred,
composing verse while embers turned to ash.
loud ripples from the river-bed.
the forest stretches wide.
the busy bees are buzzing now itâ´s spring.
i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride,
and roses bleed in tune with sorrowâ´s strings.
the wild winds sing their sombre tones
when autumn turns to red.
the song of tribulation,
the fight for daily bread.
loud ripples from the river-bed.
the forest stretches wide,
the busy bees are buzzing now itâ´s spring.
i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride,
and roses bleed in tune with sorrowâ´s strings.
a wanderer, a minstrel man,
a king, though clad in rags.
a charcoal burner, midst the snow and ice.
the flame you lit still spreads your heat
in stories and in verse
on sunlight in a summer paradise.
loud ripples from the river-bed.
the forest stretches wide.
the busy bees are buzzing now itâ´s spring.
i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride,
and roses bleed in tune with sorrowâ´s strings.
the wild winds sing their sombre tones
when autumn turns to red.
the song of tribulation,
the fight for daily bread.
loud ripples from the river-bed.
the forest stretches wide,
the busy bees are buzzing now itâ´s spring.
i sense the sound of heavy tread
as tired fiddlers stride,
and roses bleed in tune with sorrowâ´s strings.
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