A Winter Song

Mirie it is while sumer y-last

With fugheles son

Oc nu neheth windes blast

And weder strong.

Ei, ei! What this nicht is long

And ich with wel michel wrong

Soregh and murne and fast.

Mirie It Is

(13th century English)

How days of summer

filled with birdsong end

and all my pleasure’s cut

by winter’s heralds,

cold and wind.

And now the nights

are harsh and long;

my heart aches

from sorrow, grief,

and hunger’s pangs.

NM