Green Fingers - Carl Spitteler

Green Fingers rides through the wood.

And never a word says she,
But she sets her mark upon every tree.
And soon there's a whisper, a titter,
And out comes Kobolds with a skitter
To dance in the faery-ring,
And high in the branches swing -
Kobold,
Catch the gold
That on branching boughs doth its curls unfold.

Green Fingers rides through the glade.

And through lashes demure she looks
And her soft little finger crooks.
And then come the birds a-winging,
In thousands come fluttering, singing;
On her shoulders, her head, they perch content,
Like a collar, a crown, a hair-ornament -
     Tweet-tweet,
    Sweet-sweet!
And her lips are open the song to meet.

Green Fingers rides through the fields.

Her sweet breath slips
Through her finger-tips,
And everything's growing and blowing,
And the earth is with blossoms glowing;
And behind the walls of the city swells
A chorus of bells -
     Ting-a-ling,
     Ring-a-ring,
O, the sweet breath of Spring!

Green Fingers rides through the dell.

And a word to her wise little horse she says,
And still as a mouse he stays.
Then out of the dell come creeping
A pair that a tryst were keeping;
But heavy is each fond heart,
For now they must kiss and part -
     They sigh
     "Good-bye!"
And "When shall I see you again?" they cry.

Green Fingers rides on the road.

And the blossoms of May she stows
On the pair as her way she goes;
And through all of their grief and rue
Breaks the Song of Songs: "You are true."
And what happiness each has known
Through their love in its beauty shown -
     "Nay, nay!
     Mine for aye!"
"I can never forget you, come what may!"

Green Fingers rides o'er a grave.

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Carl Spitteler (1845 — 1924) Switzerland
Translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne
Source: Ross' Columns (taken from Selected Poems translated by Ethel Colburn Mayne and James F. Muirhead)