Winter In The Alps Poem by Michael Wooff

These fiery atoms that fizzle in the snow,
These golden sparks and blue and crystalline clusters
To which, in the sunlight, winter imparts lustre,
Adorn the snow's white hair that the winter winds blow.

This cotton from the sky, worn by peaks, finely spun,
This pavement you can see through, wrought from silver pure,
And this healthy, clean air to sharpen and to cure,
Are so easy on my eyes they light up with fun.

This season pleases me with clarity, cold fire,
Showing the splendour of its innocent attire,
Covering a multitude of sins as it were.

All heat gone, I'd be here for as long as I draw breath.
Should my days be cut short by mortality's blur,
I could not wish for a more precious tomb in death.

[Translated from the French of Saint-Amant (1594-1661) by Michael Wooff]