Father, where do the wild swans go? - Ludvig Holstein

Father, where do the wild swans go?
Far, far. Ceaselessly winging,
Their necks outstraining, they haste them singing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

Father, where do the cloud-ships go?
Far, far. Then winds pursue them,
And over the shining heaven strew them
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

Father, where do the days all go?
Far, far. Each runs and races,
No one can catch them, they leave no traces
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

But Father, we ? where do we then go?
Far, far. Our dim eyes veiling,
With bended head we go sighing, wailing
Far, far. Whither, none may know.

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Ludvig [Detlaf Greve] Holstein (1864 - 1943) Denmark

Translated by Charles Wharton Stork

Source: Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. Volume XXI. No. 2. November, 1922. Harriet Monroe ed. Chicago: 1912–22