Summer is Gone

Ancient Irish poem translated by Kuno Meyer

My tidings for you: the stag bells, 

Winter snows, summer is gone.

Wind high and cold, low the sun, 

Short his course, sea running high.

Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone–

The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry.

Cold has caught the wings of birds; 

Season of ice–these are my tidings.